


Someone Left to Save

by ReclessAbandon



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Dark Side Sith Inquisitor, F/M, Fake Character Death, Force-Sensitive Reader, Inquisitor Reader, Jedi, Jedi Reader, Jedi Turned Inquisitor, Original planet, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Possible Redemption, Premonitions, Psychological Torture, Seduction to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Torture, Tumblr, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, fic request, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25490089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReclessAbandon/pseuds/ReclessAbandon
Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 44





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by an Anon in my Tumblr (@veron-argentum). This is also my 40th Fic so yay~!! :3

**_TWO DAYS BEFORE THE COUNTERATTACK_ **

Many travelers would call Pevera as Felucia’s near twin—due to the vibrant, unusual, and colorful flora, the formidable yet fascinating fauna, and the great lakes that stretched and blotched across the continent. However, it colors begin to fade as the Empire devours it with its shroud.

All of you have gathered in one of the temple ruins that make up for the rebel cell’s meeting halls. Beneb and the fighters settled in the jungle that’s miles away from the capital Ulfin’s boundary. You and Cal listen in on the exchange of the soldiers and Beneb regarding their plan of their counterattack.

The main target? The Imperial outpost that’s been erected at the city.

The operation was quite elaborate for a rebel cell, nevertheless, Beeneb was confident that it was manageable—since he had put his faith on his soldiers to be the good ones, albeit being an interesting medley of misfits.

“We will strike at night—when they are most vulnerable, they’ll be under the impression that nobody will be outside due to the curfew,” Beneb interjects, he raises a finger at you. “[Y/N] will be part of the small division who’s in charge of planting the explosions at the very foundation of the building. The explosion will divert the Imps’ attention to their outpost while we free the captives and our men in their holding camps.”

And the former admiral moves his finger to Cal, “You, on the other hand, will go with the assault division. You’re one of the best fighters I’ve seen, my boy, and we’re gonna need all the brawn we can get until the captives have been freed.”

He never liked this idea not one bit—since its conception, he wasn’t really keen on the thought of having you take on one of the most dangerous tasks of this mission: explosives. You had to talk it out of him just so he’s convinced and reassured that this plan will come through.

At the end of the briefing, Cal pulled you to a secluded spot in the camp: at the side of a tent, which is still slightly in sight of other people around the camp.

“You’ve been uneasy since the start of the briefing,” you point out.

He reasons out his exact sentiments on the plan—he doesn’t like how Jax Beneb planned this whole counterattack.

“It seems risky,”

“Cal, in these times, _everything_ is risky,” you argue. “I was hoping you’d have some trust in me—given that they put me in the explosives team.”

“I _do_ trust you. It’s… It’s the plan I don’t trust,” Cal muttered, strictly within your earshot.

“They’re gonna have to do better if they wanted to kill me off,”

“Don’t joke like that,” he clicked his tongue, apparently ticked.

“I’m not joking,” you shrug your shoulders. “I meant it—I’m not that easy to get rid of, and neither are you.”

Cal fell silent. You had him back to a corner on that one. His eyes were wary of the partisans that passed you by, those pair of green irises shifted from one person to another, avoiding eye contact or greeting them with curt nods and mumbled hey’s and hi’s.

You bring your hand to his cheek, gingerly turning him to face you.

“I know it’s scary, but it’s gonna be okay,” you caress his cheek with the knuckle of your forefinger, he nuzzled his lip to the cushion of your thumb.

That same night, you were restless.

You’re haunted by the vision of red and orange burning blindingly behind your eyes, the rumble felt so surreal you feel the vibration at the soles of your feet, and whatever tension it brought you it was suffocating. Later on, in your nightmare, you’re greeted with the sight of Cal lying flat on the floor, facing up, his face is covered in ash and soot, red marks signify fresh yet minor burns, a streak of blood paints along the side of his face. Meanwhile, you can feel yourself lying right beside Cal’s unconscious—and seemingly dead—body. You want to scream, but you’re mute, with only the sound of a hundred, faceless screams, explosions, and the flaring inferno wrapping around the two of you.

 _“Cal, please get up…!”_ you hear your subconscious self beg, your voice cracking as you choke on your own words. You couldn’t even hoist your hand to nudge him, let alone touch.

He doesn’t budge. Embers continue to flutter over a plume of black smoke wafting in your direction.

You jolt up, awake in a cold sweat. Your eyes adjust to the dimness of your tent, lit by a single power lamp, your ears prick up and listen to the cacophony of insects chirping in the sparse vegetation of the outskirts. The bioluminescent sap of the trees flowing underneath the bark glowed around the camp in place of the bonfire that’s been put out for tonight.

Cal shuffled in his bed, he was woken up by your exclamation and shallow, rapid breathing.

“[Y/N], is something wrong?”

“I… Yeah…” you stammered, massaging both sides of your head as you hunched your back. “Bad dream is all… Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep, Cal.”

He hesitated, but did so shortly afterwards. He didn’t close his eyes yet when he laid his back flat on his bed, he tossed to his side facing you, but you returned to your own bed with your back turned to him. Cal watched the steady by labored rise and fall of your shoulders as you coax yourself back to sleep, although you struggled in doing so.

It was a restless night. You literally fought it off by having a quick sparring session with one of the partisans.

Cal approached and leaned against the banister of the pen where you and spar buddy fought. He noticed the sleight of your hand is still intact—the grip around the hilt is firm and secure—but your ankles when buckling seemed flimsy; it’s not that he wanted you to fail, rather he anticipated the likeliness of you fumbling once the opponent lands a blow against your practice rod—which is nothing short of a typical electrostaff with a dead circuit.

“Did you get enough sleep last night?” asked Cal as soon as your sparring was over.

“I’ve caught enough winks. Why?”

“Your form looked off, that’s what,”

“Did I now?”

“Looks like you’re not as confident as you were yesterday,”

“Cal, my nightmare had nothing to do with the counterattack,”

He dismisses it by mouthing the word “Sure” and then the two of continued to talk with the banister between you. Seeing that he is the only person you can confide to with these kinds of dreams, you eventually caved in and narrated everything to him—even the macabre part where you find him lying lifeless next to you and he doesn’t budge.

“Okay, I won’t lie: that _is_ scary.”

“It’s only a dream, Cal, don’t take it so seriously,”

“For a while there, _you_ sounded like you did,”

“Well, it felt real—but that doesn’t mean I believe it,”

The bickering ended before the tension would even rise. Even if neither of you are talking about it, there’s always something that reminds you of it—anything was a potential stimulus: the campfire evoked the images of the burning light that seared your eyes, the collective voices of the fighters gradually melding together into one indistinct voice reminded you of the faceless screams.

This went on for the rest of the day, even during a recap meeting with Jax and the partisans. After that short meeting, you were led by one of the partisans who will handle the explosives with you on the day of the operation.

“Come on, we’ll teach you how the detonators work,”

“O-Okay…”

The partisan sensed the warble in your tone, she chuckled, although not to offend. The adult woman clapped your shoulder and slung her arm around it, hauling you to her side.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, little spark! You’ve got enough time to run away from it before the Imps could even realize it exists!”

While you were being stowed away by the detonations experts, Cal joined in with the fighters who were constantly warming up and sparring at one another—with the one collective reason that they want to be in tiptop shape when it’s time for the operation to be executed. Even without touching you, Cal had sensed your anxiety, he’s noticed your episodic wincing and migraine attacks, and though you insist that you’re fine—both of you perfectly know that nothing seems fine anymore as the day for the counterattack approaches ever so briskly.


	2. Enter the Second Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, I had to unwind and relax during my weekend because it was a busy week. But I'll try to pick up the pace from now on! ^^

**_THE DAY OF THE COUNTERATTACK_ **

The operation proceeded as planned.

All of you have been preparing for this since the fall of dusk that night.

You had help in hitching a ride from the temple ruins in the jungle to Ulfin. Some rebels drove landspeeders, but only until you got to the city walls that shielded it from the wilderness. Cal caught you by the arm before you regrouped with the detonations team.

“Hey, see you later?”

You smirked, “Yeah, like always.”

Despite your recurring nightmares and anxiety, Cal aided in keeping those inhibitions at bay and encouraged you enough that everything will go as planned. It was worth pondering why his worries were transferred to you ever since you had those nightmares—but you swore to yourself that it wouldn’t happen, you will not allow it.

You and your group were equipped with live trackers—your signatures will appear as blips to the assault division’s, including Cal’s, radars. The redhead constantly stared at your signature marked with your name’s initial, it moved at a natural pace on the radar but something troubled him as they crept through the fortress like scrap rats.

“They’re close to the reactor chamber,” Cal reported to his team.

“Good, they should be going down there and sticking those claymores in a matter of minutes,”

“Come on, [Y/N]…” Cal mumbled through the grit of his teeth.

The destination was the base—the location of the main reactor chamber—and you were carrying your share of the explosives. The leader made it transparently clear of who goes where and which goes to whom. You had to navigate your way through a metal maze—and while doing so, you’re memorizing your path in which will also be your way out—until you found the enormous pillar brimming with electricity and energy.

Your eyes were filled with the light of the energy at the very base of the reactor. You could only imagine just how catastrophic the explosion will be and how far the blast radius can reach. You could’ve sworn you felt your heart drop to your stomach upon the sight of the reactor pillar.

“Don’t be intimidated, little spark! Once you paste those bad boys up, this reactor will pale in comparison to their punch!”

“It’s not that…” you mutter, supposedly to the boisterous female partisan, but you kept it to yourself as she would not comprehend what you’re sensing.

 _“I’ve got a bad feeling about this…”_ You thought to yourself, and it’s got something to do with the plan.

The rest of the fighters approached their designated pillars, producing the explosives from their packs and then adhering them to the metal surface. Meanwhile, the adult rebel noticed you hesitating.

“Well, come on, kid, we don’t have all day!” the older lady coaxed.

Eventually, you took your own claymore and attached it on the pillar’s base. You set off the timer for 30 minutes, enough for everyone to get out of the chamber safely and regroup with the ones in the surface. In the middle of your configuration, the weird feeling you detected became stronger—only you had their senses spiked. Your abrupt turn caught the woman’s attention, she shot you a quizzical look, your eyes surveyed the entire reactor chamber… until you spotted a shadow perched on the beam above her head.

“Kid, are you okay?”

“LOOK OUT!!” you screeched but it was too late.

The shadow had made its presence known—the watcher descended from the high beam with ease and drove his crimson saber straight into your companion’s spine, killing her instantly.

“NO!!!”

All of your other companions were on high alert as soon as they heard your first cry. They set their blasters to kill, all barrels pointing at the enemy fully clad in jet black armor. Without a doubt, this was an Inquisitor—everything about him was a dead giveaway from the helmet down to the saber. You brandished your own while the rebels surrounded the Inquisitor, inept to comprehend the sheer power of one individual.

“Well, hello,” the Inquisitor cooed in a singsong manner, tilting his head as he spoke. It appeared that he had his eye on you, for you were the only one standing out amongst these rebels.

“You’ll pay for what you did!” you growled.

“Oh, this?” he nudged the body with his boot. “Sorry, but we all have our accidents once in a while, eh?”

You found his remark revolting. Not once, not even in a single inch, did you remove your eyes from him. From what you can tell, you sensed that he is elusive—he’s made a good example of that before he made your fellow rebel a landing cushion for himself and the other end of his lightsaber.

“You’re quite young for a Jedi, a youngling during the Purge no doubt,”

“What do you know about me?”

A throaty chuckle was your reply; he positioned himself in a stance, as well as his saber, in the offensive.

“Perhaps, you could show me,” invited the Inquisitor.

It was he who made the first move. He cut through the wind like a dart, swift and sure, until you broke his lunge with a block. You prepared yourself for impact, but you didn’t expect it to be _this_ heavy! You’ve found yourself caught in a frenzied dance of blades, waving and swinging your saber at the Inquisitor who’s keenly refusing you a chance of a jab at all.

This new enemy in the lines, the shadowy Second Brother, was a blade in the dark.

You’ve got to hand it to him—he is very stealthy and acrobatic, he almost makes it impossible to catch up to him. Not even the sharpshooter of your team can land a mark, let alone graze his armor, as the Second Brother leaps from one parapet to a platform and so on.

Spinning in place as you followed his movements was an old tactic to tire you down, that much you’re certain, and he was impressed that you read through his plan. He didn’t linger from his high ground too long; for someone of a heavy stock, he appeared and moved as light as a feather while he’s perched on the safety banister of the platform. Holding out his dual-edged saber in one hand, he tucked his knees and sprang off from his perch, darting through the wind again towards you.

You prepared yourself again for another heavy landing. Little by little, you determine his attack pattern: he prefers confusing his enemies visually by leaping from one surface to another—like a Kowakian monkey-lizard—and when he’s in an optimum position, he’ll buckle for a heavy, dart-like attack as he bolts through the air, propelled by the take-off caused by the balls of his feet.

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” his voice rung muffled through his helmet as he strains his weight against yours, making you some sort of anchor.

Compared to him, you’re half his size and strength, but you didn’t let that intimidate you. You destroyed his stance by kicking him in the knee, straightening his leg from its tucked position, and follow it up with another foot to the stomach. The pain was tolerable, nonetheless, he wordlessly commended your courage and boldness.

“A thorny one, too!” he cackled.

You turned to the rebels.

This fight was obviously a trap for you and the rebels to lose time. Despite the compromise, you urged everyone that the plan must pull through.

“Switch on the timers now!” you ordered for everyone as you held fast against the Inquisitor.

As soon as you gave the order, one of the rebels sprinted towards his reactor, stretched out a hand as he ran so his fingers could at least touch the button…

Until the Inquisitor extended his arm, aimed at the scampering rebel, and essentially seized the man’s capability to move—leaving his fingertip just a mere inch away from the button to start the countdown.

“Ah-ah-ah!” the Inquisitor chirped in a mocking, singsong tune. “You wouldn’t wanna ruin the fun, now would you?”

Using the Force, you break off his connection with the man and drew his attention to you. Apparently so, ruining his own sick definition of fun is something one must not do—not even a Jedi.

You fixated your eyes on him, you watch him slowly crane his head from the rebel to you—obviously vexed by your interruption—and so he lowered his arm, subsequently releasing the rebel. His throaty growl prevailed the low-pitched machine hum of the reactors.

Bemused at you, he snarls, “Thorny one, indeed.”

“Careful not to prick yourself then!”

The Second Brother liked your snark. The two of you resumed the whirlwind of blades as the rebels took advantage of the preoccupied Inquisitor and made a run for the explosives already glued to the pillars.

“[Y/N], COME ON!” another rebel vigorously swung his arm in the air, repeating a beckoning gesture at you as he let the rest of the partisans scale the ladders and make their escape.

“JUST GO, I’LL FOLLOW!!” you cry while struggling in the block against the Second Brother.

“Are you sure about that!?” he shifts _more_ of his weight against you, in an attempt to make you fumble and finally give him a window to attack.

The rebels make their way out of the reactor chamber with less than thirty minutes ticking behind them. Engaging the Second Brother has cost you ten minutes already. A shortcut was made, courtesy of the bombardment caused by the skirmish on the ground. They pass through the obliterated hallway with a hole in the wall, a few Stormtroopers’ bodies strewn across the floor, and a row of busted turrets.

Back on the ground, Cal is the singular crutch that gave the rebels the advantage they so desperately want and need. This is a large playing field, and so he had the equal amount of room to practice, experiment, enhance, or improve. Cal was confident as he deals more hits in the vanguard along with the rest of the rebels in the front; eventually, he had to fall back from the bulk of the action as he felt something wrong.

“Bee-boop?”

“I’m not hurt, BD… I sensed something… quite bad,” Cal panted, clutching his chest as he struggled to calm his breathing.

He shook it off and fished out his compact radar from his pocket. His eyes followed a cluster of red blips moving in the same direction—which is south in his perspective—though, he spotted _your_ blip which remained in the reactor chamber. He stared at the red dot, _your_ red dot, pondering why it has remained in the same location or only moving in what ought to be just paces in real life. He clenched his teeth hard enough for this molars to grind against each other. He puts away the radar and returns to battle.

 _Where are you, [Y/N]? What are you still doing there?!_ He thought to himself as he cuts down the trio of Stormtroopers aiming at him.

Meanwhile, you’re still busy with the Second Brother; there seems to be no end to his energy—still acrobatic and swift as the first time he made himself known. Another clash and long intertwine of your blades, he finally saw through you—in your eyes, lit by the contradicting colors of your weapons—and discovered the determination slowly transmogrifying into desperation.

“Ahh,” he purred, and then chuckled. “Now I see what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“You know nothing, you treacherous oaf! Nor will you ever!”

“There it is!” he voluntarily withdrew from the clash of blades, evading your overhead strike, and gestures with his arms thrown open to the sides as if he had an epiphany.

He pointed the end of his saber to you.

“There’s _that_ darkness, you’ve buried it so deep within you… but now it has emerged,” he tauned.

“Keep quiet!”

Out of frustration, you charged and lunged at him. A reckless move in the heat of the moment.

The Inquisitor had no problem whatsoever in deflecting you; he’s confident that he has attained the upper hand of this duel—now that he’s spotted a weakness in you that you’ve unintentionally let out.

This collision of blades was the most intense than the ones that came before it. You could almost see his sinister grin through the plate of his mask as your sabers—a dramatic contrast of color and of virtue—illuminate your faces.

“Let me…” he hissed and slowly brought his one hand from his hilt to your forehead. “Shine a light in that darkness.”


	3. Last, Desperate Resort

The Second Brother’s hand barely touched you, his clawed gloves hovered mere inches away from your face, but you could feel the energy escaping your entire body and then enter his fingers in the form of white, translucent tendrils. The sensation was similar to drowning—sinking, rather—with a weight tied to your ankles, the farther you plummet the more air you are deprived of. Your throat roughed up on its own as you gagged for oxygen. When you thought you were kicking your legs to perhaps swing yourself out, your ankles were all but a pair of spastic, twitching joints—any more and you just might tear your tendons due to the desperation brought by your fight-or-flight instinct.

It’s excruciating. Extremely.

You could feel like your heart would stop any moment now, unable to withstand this overwhelming sensation.

With your guard down, he got back at you in breaking your balance—kicking you in the shin so your stance falters—and then held you by the scruff of your shirt as he continued stealing what could be your Force energy. As he stole your essence, he took satisfaction in your bodily throes that were nothing more but feeble attempts to slip away from his grasp.

“Not so slippery, aren’t you, my little thorn?”

For every inch of translucent mist that wafted out you cannot breathe, your head felt heavy for each time the veins on your temples throbbed, and your vision went dim as you avoided eye contact with the Second Brother. Whatever form of escape you attempt, everything was pointless.

You are literally in the Second Brother’s grasp.

It is mercy that he has not killed you yet.

Although he decided to make a plaything out of your agony.

“LET ME GO!!! LET… M-ME… G-G-GO!!!” you ear-shattering plea fell to deaf, sadistic ears.

As you suffer with every violent jerk of your body—so much so that it cramped your muscles—every labored, through-the-teeth breath, and the frenzied shifting of your eyes to fight off the dimming—all of these reactions to the intolerable, inhumane pain that you’re experiencing right now does not seem to sate this Inquisitor.

Through his wicked Force ability, he was able to see everything in the recesses of your mind—your memories, dreams and nightmares, and fears. He bore witness to the nightmare that has haunted two nights ago until the eve of this very day. The Second Brother wanted to make sure that you will see and realize that your motivation is also your weakness.

“Now I see whom that fire burns for,” he purred.

His cackling began with a wheeze, muffled yet still audible through his mask’s ornate face plate. As he looked into your shifty eyes, he mocks you by watching your nightmare play like a film… over and over again, to his liking.

All of a sudden, his strength appears to have double compared to hours ago. The longer he inflicts this agonizing power over you, the more you submit to your knees—with the toll of the pain becoming more and more unbearable.

This was a dark, distorted mirror image of Cal’s own ability: Psychometry. His and the Second Brother’s abilities are near-identical; the only difference is that the Inquisitor has yet to demonstrate that he can manipulate his victim’s visions to his whim—bending them, poisoning them, and ultimately changing them—to further twist what they truly convey. This is a capability that he has earned through the Dark Side of the Force.

“I can see him heading this way right now,”

“Liar! He’s out there fighting with the others,”

“Oh, I never lie. I may be bad, little thorn, but I do not lie—it’s a lesser, lamer evil, in my opinion.”

“And _I_ am supposed to believe _you_ —of all people? I’d rather believe a pile of Bantha shit if it talked!”

The fight dragged on, while it did, Cal tore his way through the enemy fronts, leaving lifeless Stormtroopers in his wake—but he hasn’t gotten any closer to the stronghold to get to you. From where he stood, he could see the rebels that you came with pour out of the entrance, some of them leaped from the towers, taking the enemy by surprise and flanking them.

He squinted his eyes through the battlefield, he couldn’t spot you—he knew what you wore and none of those figures in the distance matched.

“Where are you, [Y/N]?” Cal growled in frustration and growing fear.

The Inquisitor continued to siphon your Force energy out of your system, leaving barely an ounce from the vessel.

When he’s had enough of it, he releases his grip from the collar of your shirt and then you felt a row of solid, metal knuckles slammed to your cheekbone. You literally saw stars, mere white specks dancing behind your eyes as the surroundings blurred; you can barely make a proper stance, let alone stand straight. The Inquisitor laughed in mockery.

“With every step he takes, the closer that nightmare of yours becomes a reality,” he cooed.

“Just shut up!”

“Oh, and would you look at the time?” he chirped in his trademark singsong tone, only this time it was sarcastic and meant to taunt you.

Eleven minutes remain on the clock.

You spot this from the nearest time-bomb at the corner of your eye.

“Do you still think you can play around with fate, little thorn?”

There still some fight left in you, though your battle was both physical and mental, it’s difficult enough to deal with the physical—what more of the latter?

Being drained of your Force essence was relative to losing a lot of blood—you’re nauseous and groggy, your vision’s fogged and wobbly, and your grip can barely keep itself tight. You cannot even hold your defensive stance for more than a minute. You coax yourself to take long, slow, calm breaths—it was effective. Slowly, you recompose yourself.

Your objective in mind is to hold off the Second Brother while affording enough time to escape.

“There is another way of saving him, you know,”

You ultimately hate to admit it… but he’s right.

As he had siphoned the Force out of you, he has also seen through the secrets of your mind. He knew of your fear—the apparent death of Cal. You’ve already figured out that the blinding red and orange light, the ash and soot, all came from the imminent explosion caused by the bombs destroying the reactors.

Little did you know that the solution he had intentionally embedded in your mind was a distortion, a trick, and he smiled to himself sensing full well that you’re slowly biting into the bait.

“Are you _really_ going to let his blood be on your hands? It’s going to be a lot, you might not keep all of it, little thorn,”

“Don’t call me that…” you snarled through the grit of your teeth as you sobbed.

You’re desperate. The longer the clock ticks, the more imminent Cal’s death would be.

_Come on, [Y/N], think fast!_

You will not allow the Second Brother to get the best of you. A mere second was afforded for you to meditate, to make peace quickly that your last-minute plan is the best and _only_ resort to save Cal—without any other compromise.

 _I know he’s safe, that’s all that matters._ You mouth the words to yourself like a prayer.

With one sweep of the arm, all of the bombs’ timers have been manually changed. Originally, only five minutes were remaining, but you—using the Force—overrode the configuration and set them all to _ten seconds_. This took the Second Brother by surprise, with the remainder of your strength, you kicked him on the chest and flung him a few inches away; while disoriented, you made a run for it—dashing through the air in the same speed as he did, scaled and skipped a few spokes of the ladder until you hauled yourself to the platform. Doing these doubled the toll your body is already taking, which is struggling to keep you from collapsing; your breath heaved and your own weight suddenly became anvils.

Now that you’ve gotten yourself to high ground, you’ve used up all of your energy and returned to your sluggish, weakened state. The exit is still far off and you can see the digits on the clock.

_00:05._

“W-Where’s [Y/N]?” Cal demands an answer from the rebel who ran past him, grabbing the soldier by the sleeve.

“I-I don’t know! An Imp attacked us from nowhere… he’s already killed Yenna!”

“Imp? What Imp?”

“He had a saber like yours, except red.”

The young Jedi let the partisan go. Based on the last thing the rebel said, Cal already knew it was no ordinary Imp.

His fears have come true. Although he was aware of the risks already but he never anticipated _you_ would face an Inquisitor _alone!_

_00:02._

Before Cal could even get any closer to the stronghold, he—along with everyone else, friend and foe alike—stopped dead in his tracks, startled by the rumble that sourced from the building. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped—the red and orange cloud of fire filled the pair of jade eyes—and his heart drummed so loudly that it just might tear right through his ribs and out from his leather armor. Goosebumps pelted his arms, cold sweat trickled on his temples, and the hairs at the back of his neck pricked up.

“No…!” he gasped. When the reality of the explosion eventually sunk into him, despite refusing the truth right in front of him, he roared your name at the top of his lungs—so much so that he wheezed when he inhaled.

“Beeeeeeee!!!!” BD-1 let out of the shrillest, ear-shattering chirp he has ever done in his entire life.

“FALL BACK!!!”

“RETREAT!!”

The Stormtroopers cried in panic, some turned tail and fled, a brave handful kept shooting while slowly stepping back. The rebels gradually overtook the field until the numbers have thinned out in the enemy’s side. Having a complete disregard for his safety, Cal charged through the crossfire, powered yet blinded by pure adrenaline, a few of the partisans called out to him but to no avail.

“CAL, HEY COME BACK!!”

“CAL, COME BACK HERE!!!”

Cal was hindered from coming closer as another minor explosion followed up after the big one. The wind of the blast was enough to fling him away and the couple of partisans who called for him ran and caught up to him. The hooked their arms underneath Cal’s.

“NO, WAIT!!! [Y/N] IS STILL IN THERE!!!” Cal violently kicked and attempted to shake them off his arms, but they’ve held him tight enough to bruise his arms through the sleeves. “GET OFF OF ME!!!”

“Cal, come on! We gotta get out of here!” insisted the male partisan who’s the first to call Cal out when he ran off.

The two young men worked together in hauling Cal out of the fire’s radius—surprisingly, he was heavy for both of them, considering the insistent one was a bit bulkier in stature, but that’s the adrenaline doing its job in his body—the ginger kept his eyes on the blazing stronghold, his emotions have clouded the clarity of his mind as well as his good judgment.

The pair of rebels had regrouped with Cal in tow—who was still being stubborn and difficult to deal with. They reported the one known casualty—the woman who personally called you Little Spark, the woman named Yenna, murdered by the Inquisitor upon making his grand entrance earlier.

Cere personally approached him to greet him back, but when the woman saw that you’re missing, her eyes searched the entire group.

“Where’s [Y/N]?”

“She wasn’t with them when they rendezvoused,”

“Th-Then where?”

Cal’s face lit up and frantically patted his person in search of the compact radar. There was no sign of your blip. He could’ve sworn he saw it blink once before it died out.

“No! My radar’s bust, but I know she’s out there, Cere!”

Cere, unsure of what to make of Cal’s medley of emotions, sighed and spoke nothing. Cal insisted on setting up a search party for you with him personally leading it. The idea was merit, unfortunately, the young redhead isn’t the one calling the shots.

“Whoa, slow down, kid,” the captain in charge stepped into the scene between Cal and Cere. He expresses that he understands what the boy is going through, shell-shocked by the apparent fact that you might have been killed in the explosion, but he also expressed the importance of the survivors’ individual well-being.

“We have to tend the wounded first; and you’re gonna need some equipment if you want to charge through that fire out there,” added the captain.

“I won’t need a lot of men, rather I don’t any,”

The same couple of partisans who hauled Cal against his will—namely Larki and Morzen—cut in directly after Cal’s statement. They volunteered to go with him, thus it’s just the three of them as a search party. They have enough people back in the rendezvous point and the main hideout to care for the wounded and send them back for proper medical attention. The captain personally took and handed over sets of protective gears for Cal and his companions.

The three of them mounted speeder bikes—Cal rode along while Larki and Morzen shared. Cere watched the trio disappear into the horizon and then her head craned to the sky peeking over the trees.

It will be night very soon.

“Your boy sure is persistent,”

“It’s because he feels something is there, and he means what he says,” Cere argued. She nodded sideways to the captain, gesturing him to the tent until their land transport arrives.


	4. Remnants in the Rubble

The inferno had died down, sated of the metal and flesh that it had devoured upon its blistering wake.

In the rubble, you lay there half-dead, perhaps half-awake. Though in this case, did it even matter which half is which?

Your eyelids slowly opened, particles of dirt that seated along the lining of your eyes made it hard for you to open them. You can’t make of your current location, though the last thing you remember is the heat boiling under your feet while the fire catches up to the elevator while you recovered your strength, the speed of the turbolift cell in a nerve-racking race against the cascading flame, and throwing yourself out of the elevator the very split second the door opened.

“Am I dead…?” your voice was dead quiet that it’s almost as if your subconscious was the one speaking. You asked yourself, still as a stone in where you lie. “Is there something broken?”

The former’s answer was no. Air still entered your lungs.

A few more blinks and the dust had cleared off of your lashes; your field of vision is filled with the monotonous shade of brown, gray, and black mingling together, with specs of glowing red embers floating about the clouds of smoke wafting over you. No heavy debris fell on you, but bodily movement is limited, the only thing you can move is your head. The dust and smoke constantly pricked your eyes that you couldn’t keep them open for long.

You hear footsteps, heavy and slow, you search the person only to find a silhouette closing in on you. When it got close enough, he bent down but you still couldn’t recognize whoever this was.

“C-Cal…?”

The shadow didn’t speak, except a baritone growl rumbled out of him. He stands back up and vanished from your line of sight. The next thing you know, you feel two arms hooking under your shoulders, dragging you out of the debris, bumping into a slab of concrete or metal here and there. He didn’t notice that the bracelet you wore, now scorched to the point that the thread has split and fell to the ground as he towed you.

A few inches of being dragged across the floor later, the hulking figure adjusted himself and lifted you up to his shoulder, carrying you like a sack. It didn’t last long though, the stranger had settled you in a hovering gurney, you felt it sink as it accepted your weight and then rise again to its default level; while you’re still clinging onto the last string of consciousness, a pair of voices—distinguishably female and male, the latter being the one who pulled you out of the rubble. You didn’t know that these were the other Inquisitors who were sent to the scene.

As they conversed, their words faintly trailed in your head to the walls of your skull. You could only hear and listen, but you’re too weak to bob your head slightly to the side to look at them. Their words echoed as you stare into the charred ceiling of the stronghold.

 _“…Sure she’s alive? The… will have to… about…”_ the female voice echoed.

 _“Found her… utility lobby… Can’t find him…”_ the male replied.

_“Alive too… from the fire…”_

Their butchered conversation—at least in your own perspective—eventually blocked off as you slowly lose consciousness. The gurney hovers and then pushes forward, following the trail of the female and male Inquisitors—namely the Seventh Sister, a skinny Mirialan—and the Fifth Brother who’s a tall humanoid with gray skin.

They escort you, along with the Second Brother who barely escaped the fire but still managed to maintain a pulse, out of the site and into the transport waiting for them in the far southern side of the stronghold.

The Mirialan examined your comatose-like state. Past through the soot and grime smeared across your cheeks, the streak of dried blood from your forehead to your temples, the reddening of your face due to the extreme heat—she thought it’s actually a miracle that you even survived.

“You sure look though,” the Mirialan female commented.

“Let’s see if the Master is just as impressed as we are,” the Fifth Brother added.

* * *

Cal, Larki, and Morzen arrived to the site. Unbeknownst to the boys, the Inquisitors have beat them to it in their endeavor. The fires have lessened in size, not as bad as the initial blast. Some areas of the stronghold were accessible and can be safely traversed. Cal hopped off of his speeder, followed by Larki and Morzen, and the boys hindered the reckless, eager ginger by calling out his name—stopping him in his tracks to give him his own set of protective gear: a breathing mask with a filter tube and a complementary pair of goggles.

“Ready?” Larki confirms the other two as they all donned the gear.

They enter the stronghold through a gaping hole created by the explosion. Prior to going any further, Cal divided the areas per person—taking into consideration your last known location, according to his radar, the path that you took in and apparently out. But since the building has been partially obliterated, the three boys had to think of another way in certain areas.

“Larki, see if you can find your way to the reactor chamber. Morzen, check if there are any other paths created by the blast for survivors to pass through,” Cal instructed. “I’ll head to the annex, or whatever’s left of it.”

The trio split, Cal had masterfully distributed the areas per man; Larki was a tad bit leaner and smaller—give that he’s the youngest among them—so it gives him an advantage to slip through gaps and crawlspaces, on the other hand, Morzen was heavily-built young man. Whether or not it was by coincidence or by pure observation, Cal had tact in dividing the party.

Cal trekked through the remains of the annex, the floor and a good portion of the walls remained intact—although charred and torn open by the impact of the bomb—and the heat from the nearby fires was enough to make him sweat. Fortunately for him, the mask protected his lungs from the dangerously-thick smoke.

“Mind your head, BD-1,” Cal warned.

Cal squeezed his way through the gap between a wall and a fallen metal ceiling beam leaning against it. He ducked and crawled, then landed on fours for a safe landing. He was feeling goof, albeit a little out of place to be so, because he’s hopeful that you’re still alive; rather, he convinced himself that you were, for he could still feel a trace of your presence even though it was gradually getting fainter by the minute.

“Bee-woo…” BD-1 suddenly hopped down from Cal’s shoulder and skittered towards the debris, flashing his light and peeking over small to see if you were in the other side.

There was nothing much Cal could find, so he decided to further investigate in another spot. He navigated the ruins, he followed his instincts to go to the reactor chamber where Larki ought to be; as he ran along the way, his comm rang.

“Cal, do you copy? It’s Larki,”

“I copy, Larki. Did you find anything?”

Cal detected the hesitation in Larki’s voice. He demanded Larki to respond.

“I’m gonna send you my coordinates, meet me there,”

“Where are you right now?”

“I don’t know. Some kind of utility lobby. Just come through, I’ve already radioed Morzen. He’s on his way too,”

Cal had a bad feeling about this. BD-1 received Larki’s coordinates after popping out his little satellite dish, promptly, he flashed the holomap in front of Cal. The young Jedi’s eyes trailed from his current location to a portion of the map colored in yellow, there was a significant, vertical gap between him and his destination—he would have to find a way down.

“Not too far away,” he mumbled under his breath.

Without a moment’s hesitation he sprinted through the corridor, navigating through the ruins to find the quickest way down. At the end of the corridor, the edge of it had been bombed off and torn apart, but Cal looked around to see if he can use anything to his advantage. Hanging on another set of beams over his head is a cable coiled around it, he pulled it out using the Force and rappelled down.

He checked the map again and saw that the distance had shrunk. He struggled to remain optimistic, he could still feel your trace, but it’s becoming nothing more than a wafting swirl of smoke. Cal and Morzen arrived nearly at the same time, but the latter came from the eastern side and circled his way to Larki’s meeting point.

“Look at this place,” Larki gasped in full disbelief of the sheer damage that their bombs have wrought. He gestured at his surroundings with open arms.

The three of them investigated the entire area. Morzen climbed a mountain of rock and metal only to find the chunky remains of the structure. Had there been more bombs planted here, then this structure wouldn’t last for a search party to even go through—that’s what the young man thought. Larki, on the other hand, surveyed the fallen columns that once were the great energy reactors; he dared to step closer to the banister and peek over it, he saw the ground level of the chamber—he couldn’t see anything that would resemble life.

“Looks like we’re not finding anything down there,” Larki commented.

“I sense something, though I can’t explain it,” Cal said to no one in particular.

“You think [Y/N] could still be here?”

“Like I said, Larki, it’s difficult to explain. It’s like… she’s here but she’s not… I know I felt her…”

As Cal continued to ponder and muse about your faint trail that he’s picked up ever since he got here, Morzen continued to search in the rubble; nothing caught his eye—save for a single bracelet lying around. The silvery finish had been dirtied by the grime, the cord had been charred in the middle for it to tear—leaving the torn ends of it as black as coal, contrast to its original beige.

Morzen couldn’t make of the bracelet, but he still considered it a clue.

“Look,” he uttered, catching the two’s attention. He nestled the bracelet gently on the flat of his palm as he approached the two standing by the banister that overlooks the pillars.

Cal almost didn’t want to see what was in Morzen’s hand, because a part of him already knew what it was—he just didn’t make peace with it yet—and when the boy’s hand angled to show the trinket resting on his palm, Cal’s eyes widened.

“Oh Cal… Isn’t that…?” Larki sighed, he felt his heart sink when the only clean spot of the silver pendant shone against the firelight.

He hovered his hand towards the bracelet, Morzen patiently waited for Cal to take it—what neither of these two boys understand is Cal’s Psychometry: if he touches that bracelet of yours, he will never be ready to accept what he will see, hear, and feel.

“Beee…” BD cooed sadly, worried of Cal’s anxiety.

Cal sucked it in, then snatched the bracelet off of Morzen’s hand—a tad bit harshly rather—and the wave of the Force Echo was overwhelming, coming from a tiny trinket such as this.

The blazing inferno roared in his eardrums, he could almost feel the searing heat burning through his sleeves. The sounds of your labored breathing as you struggled to haul yourself out of harm’s way—while being severely injured at that—matched with Cal’s breathing, his body has mimicked the exhaustion taking its toll on your body. His ankles buckled and then failed, he submits to the floor while trapping your bracelet in his fist—this reaction startled Larki and Morzen, they took a step closer but stopped by Cal himself as he continues to absorb the Force Echo—and the last thing he saw was the debris falling over you as the fire caught on. He saw the last few images in your eyes—he felt you lying flat on your back as the rubble shrouded your vision in pure darkness and the bracelet slipping off of your hand.

The singular twanging of the silver pendant against the metal floor was the stimulus that snapped Cal back to reality. The exact same trace of you that he’s been desperately holding on had suddenly disappeared. When he opened his eyes, he saw Larki and Morzen gawking at him, both confused and expecting an answer from the Jedi.

“Cal…?” Morzen softly murmured, sensing the overwhelming stress within his companion.

Cal’s next action further confused the two: he frantically searched the utility lobby, past Larki and Morzen’s shoulders, and took big breaths in a rapid pace that his breathing mask fogged in between sobs. The embers twinkled red against the tears appearing along the rim of his eyes.

“No, she… SHE WAS ALIVE!! I FELT IT!” Cal growled ferociously.

He stared back at the little bracelet resting on his tremoring hand, the tears that had been welling up in his eyes while being stuck in his Psychometry trance eventually wetted the bracelet and his open palm. They continuously fell like rain. He couldn’t believe it. He refused to.

The final thing this structure heard was the roaring “No” of the Jedi ultimately destroyed by his discovery—echoing across its burnt walls, the wind that caught it flew over the fires and disturbed its flares.


	5. A Broken Prize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took so long for me to finish this chapter, way longer than it should really. I should really pick up the pace. But thank you so much for continuing to support the fic! I appreciate it! ^^

Cal reluctantly left the structure with his companions. Throughout the entire exit, the Jedi never spoke a word, Larki and Morzen could do nothing but glance at him every once in a while until they mounted their speeders again.

Not even BD-1 himself could get a response from his owner.

Throughout their exit from the structure, Cal spoke nothing. Larki and Morzen could only catch a glimpse of the Jedi, neither of them can say something of value to him—perhaps nothing at all. The three of them mounted their speeders and without even waiting for the two, Cal revs up the engine of his bike and sped out. Fortunately, Larki was able to catch up as soon as his own speeder sputtered to life.

The small search party returned to the temple ruins, as they were told by Cere via comlink in the middle of their drive. Cal’s entrance rattled some of the rebels loitering within the ruins’ vicinity, Cere included; when she saw that the headcount remained the same as they left, her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

“Cal, where is [Y/N]?”

Silence. Cal’s eyes drooped, avoiding eye contact with Cere.

“Cal, _where is [Y/N]?”_ Cere spoke through her clenched teeth while her fists shook with a confusion of anger, worry, and fear.

“T-This…” Cal stammered, unfolding his fingers to show the bracelet to Cere, which she instantly recognizes to be yours.

“That’s all they found?” the woman’s voice cracked.

Cere covered her gaping mouth with trembling hands, in full shock of the discovery, and her breathing became shaky. Her hands fell to her chest, as if her heart’s about to burst through her ribcage. Eventually, Merrin and Greez were drawn to the scene, quickly, the Nightsister spotted the trinket in Cal’s hand; she held her gasp and her eyebrows furrowed, she brought her hands to her mouth but they stopped at her chest.

Greez worriedly uttered your name.

Cal was given time to be alone. He stayed in one of the chambers of the temple that served as a sleeping quarters. For the rest of the day, Cal was exempted from strategy conferences by the grace of the empathetic Jax. The grief-stricken Jedi never let go of your bracelet, however, he was unresponsive even to the little boy staring at him as he sits on the floor in the far corner of the room.

BD-1 chirps and beeps from time to time, trying to fish a word out of Cal, but he would speak very little.

“She’s not gone, BD… I know it. So, why don’t they believe me? They look like they don’t,” Cal’s eyes trailed, aligning it with BD who’s nestled on the space between his crossed legs. “I’m not crazy, aren’t I?”

The little droid shook its head in reply, BD-1 nudged your bracelet with his head’s visor, followed by a sad, long beep that faded out. The hours felt like only minutes to the boy, he leaned his head against the cold, cobblestone wall and eventually dozed off.

That night, Cere personally went to the Cal’s room with a tray of food. Cal has lost track of the time that he didn’t wake in time for dinner. It was BD-1 who sensed Cere coming into the room, a quiet chirp emitted from the droid, and the woman carefully walked into his bedroom to set the tray down on a podium. Even upon her presence, Cal didn’t wake up; Cere’s eyes wandered to his open hand, one cord of the bracelet dangles out of his palm. She took a deep sigh and didn’t bother waking up to remind him to eat.

“Keep an eye out for him, BD, please…” she softly pleaded and then left. “And tell him to eat when he wakes.”

A good chunk of minutes passed after she left the room and Cal finally wakes. He blinks several times until his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room in the moonless night; the first thing he notices is the power lamp sitting next to his futon built from straw, animal hide, and mismatched pieces of cloth sewn together.

“Hey, BD… dozed for a long time, haven’t I?”

“Boo!” BD nodded and then gestured to the tray that Cere had left.

Cal’s stomach ferociously growled when his nostrils flared upon picking up the scent of the food—albeit having gone cold for a time. The rations weren’t exactly a culinary art, neither was it a cuisine, but it was enough to sate an empty stomach—the adrenaline from earlier had dulled Cal of his senses and awareness of the goings-on in his body, only then was he starting to realize just how hungry he is.

Cere had sneakily doubled the servings for each food type she’s prepared for Cal: three scoops of Lemus corn, a bowl of bone broth nearly filled to the brim, and two turkey drumsticks—instead of one as imposed by Jax to conserve rations per headcount.

“Looks like the fighters must’ve looted the Imps’ storehouse, huh?”

“Woo!”

The Jedi scrambled towards the food and helped himself, however, he didn’t exactly scarf down whatever’s on the platter. He only ate what he wanted and had some leftovers. He dismissed it and returned the tray on the podium.

* * *

The Inquisitors, Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, charted a course to one of the Imperial medical outposts and also their satellite fortress—a smaller likeness of their stronghold like that of the one in Nur—in Mons Golotha, a moon situated in the Outer Rim.

“We are bound to Mons Golotha in T-Minus 35 minutes, Seventh Sister,” reported the command ship’s admiral.

“Good, have them prepare a medical capsule for the bodies we’ve recovered—for immediate transfer.”

The admiral bowed in compliance and returned to overseeing the cadets on their computers.

The pair strode in exit of the bridge and to the command ship’s cramped medical bay. The Fifth Brother sensed the Mirialan’s thoughts dwelling on you.

“What’s on your mind, Sister?”

“The girl’s an intriguing subject. She’s going to be _very_ busy in her interrogation when she wakes,”

“ _If_ she wakes,” reiterated the Fifth Brother.

There was silence between them as they marched through the corridors. Crew members avoid eye contact as much as possible from the Inquisitors in any way doable—tipping the rims of their uniform caps downwards so their eyes are obscured, others would maintain eye contact while speaking even though they caught the Seventh Sister giving them a passing glance when she entered their periphery.

The pair didn’t mind their fear of them, it was insignificant of them to pick up every single thought and feeling flooding this corridor.

Upon their arrival to the moon, Mons Golotha, they were instantly given confirmation to land and instructed whoever’s capable to transfer the patients from the medical bay to the shuttle for their descent to the surface. A couple of medical specialists assigned in the medbay helped in settling both you and the Second Brother in your own medical capsules, the 2-1B medical droid meticulously configured the control panels of both pods to the optimum setting for each one’s survival from the descent until the complete transfer.

From one medical specialist to another, you and the Second Brother were handed over. While being escorted to your rooms, the doctors and nurses were performing their SOPs in bringing in emergency patients.

“Both of them are in a vegetative state, but he’s in a more critical state. I want an operating table prepped for him and a Bacta tank filled to the brim—infused with antibiotics for his second to third degree burns. This surgery is strongly required pre-Bacta treatment.” Barked one of the doctors who led the way while the Inquisitor pair flanked them.

“The girl’s vitals are stable. I have a heartbeat! Blood pressure is low though, she’s suffering from minor concussions and burns,” diagnosed a second doctor who stood close to your own gurney. “Prepare a Bacta tank for her as well, infuse it with a mild painkiller and antibiotics for her burns so they won’t infect and blister.”

The nurses rushed to comply with the doctors’ orders. Your doctor was astounded with your body’s physical resilience, he wagered it was your fight-or-flight response or your self-preservation instincts despite lying down on the brink of unconsciousness—seconds before the Fifth Brother picked you up and spotted you. He may have not seen what happened to you, but he was sure that you were a fighter—perhaps even more of a fighter than the Second Brother, dare he thinks!

“Alright now, you little darling, let’s get you patched up.”

The female nurses strip you off of your soiled and scorched clothes, washed off the grime and soot that stuck to your skin and face, and attached the apparatus necessary for your body before submerging you to the vat of Bacta.

“How long will they be submerged?” asked the Fifth Brother to the Second Brother’s attending physician.

“That depends on their case, really. In his case, since he’s the most severely injured, it may take him weeks to recover fully—better if he regains consciousness in the middle of his treatment,”

“And…” the gray humanoids jerks his head to you in the tank. “What of her?”

“Well, evidently, her wounds are less fatal compared to the other patient. However, we are detecting some signs of internal bleeding. Recovery may take weeks as well, but perhaps it’ll be shorter for her.”

“Will she have regained her strength when she wakes up?” the Mirialan interjected.

“All of that will be determined on the amount of time she’ll use for rest and recovery,”

The Mirialan hummed and dismissed herself to the doctors. She contacted the Grand Inquisitors in private, reporting the diagnoses of the doctors for both you and the Second Brother, and your involvement with the rebel cell that they’ve encountered in Pevera.

“We found one of the Jedi helping the rebels, m’lord,” reported the Seventh Sister. “But she’s still being taken care of here.”

“Good, let her body relish the remainder of her days where she will not yet feel any pain and anguish,” the Grand Inquisitor snarled through the small hologram projection on the Seventh Sister’s holodisk. “She will answer to us the moment she opens her eyes.”

“The girl is a survivor—a better one than the Second Brother, he didn’t have it easy. I sense something in her, something familiar,”

“Oh? How intriguing,” the Grand Inquisitor took the bait. “I should like to hear what you have to say about this girl, Seventh Sister.”

“Yes, m’lord,”

“See to it that she recovers in her treatment, she has a lot to answer for us,” the Grand Inquisitor added before his hologram fizzled out.

The doctors and their companion medical droids worked on the Second Brother’s surgery meticulously and tirelessly. They picked up a pulse from him and then began their procedure. It was a gruesome image, even for the droids.

For one, a large patch of burnt flesh stands out from the Second Brother’s scarred, olive skin. It covered his left shoulder down to the left half of his torso. Shards and portions of his clothing—both the undershirt and the armor plates—have melted and stuck to his skin, tools were required to separate debris from the flesh. A string of viscous pus connected the removed shrapnel and his blistering, black and red skin. Bodily fluids oozed out from every orifice conceivable on his wounds—throughout the operation, he’s partially conscious, flinching on particular moments where the droids would prod their syringes and quite-delicate mandibles on his skin.

“I sense his hate, even in his dormant state,” the Fifth Brother commented as they watch the operation.

“Likewise. Last I heard, these two were fighting. I’m certain he’ll be most hostile towards her,”

“I checked the database,” the Fifth Brother huffed, and a curious Seventh Sister craned her head to face him. “I found her in the records: [Y/N] [L/N]. Another Jedi survivor, in hiding until she apparently joined the rebels with the other Jedi—Cere Junda and Cal Kestis—and then the Second Brother engaged her while trying to infiltrate the stronghold with the rebels.”

“They’re all the same,” the Mirialan scoffed.

The Inquisitors watched the doctors do their work until the surgeons have finished their job on the Second Brothers and then he was dropped into the tank. The two of you were being observed by the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, she watched the two of you bobbing in the liquid substance like apples in a bucket.

“Doctor, do whatever it takes to speed up the girl’s recovery period. We want her conscious as soon as possible,”

“B-But… Seventh Sister, we haven’t even carefully observed her wounds and their fatalities on her body!”

“Unless you want to be the one strapped to the Imperial torture chair, I suggest you do your job faster,”

“Y-Yes… m-madam.”

The Fifth Brother has gotten the hint of the Seventh Sister’s other plans for you. He’s been sensing it running in her mind ever since.

“Do you think she’ll get the Grand Inquisitor’s attention—even Lord Vader?”

The Mirialan girl turned to the gray humanoid, having to tilt her head back to emphasize their height difference, she smirked.

“I don’t doubt it,”

“And if she refuses?”

The smirked retained. Seventh Sister seemed to be amused to answer his question.

“Well, I think we can persuade her,” she pans her head to your tank: sections of hair floating about like soft tendrils, closed eyes yet bursting with life the open they shoot open, and a weakened spirit that she perceives as a blank slate. “One way or another.”


	6. When Inquisitors Pry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My biggest apologies for not publishing as quick as I used to be. I'm not in a good place mentally right now. I'm trying my best to fight it so I can still give good stories to all of you everyday. Thanks for your understanding and continuous support! ^w^ You guys are the greatest!

In the span of three weeks, you and the Second Brother were in constant observation by the medical droids—encoding and then relaying their findings to the doctors who occasionally visited you every other day. A medical droid reports that you might open your eyes perhaps at the end of the week. The same goes for the Second Brother, despite his severe injuries and that tedious surgical operation that he underwent.

When the third and a last week came, you did open your eyes. The Bacta-infused water stung your eyes and you realize you’re submerged—by instinct, you held your breath, unaware that you have a medical breather on until you bit on its silicon mouthpiece, you felt the rather uncomfortable armbands on your pruning skin. Through the glass of the vat you’re encased in, a medical droid hovers in front of you.

In confusion, your heart rate spiked—reflecting on the heart monitor just right next to the tank—but the droid wasn’t alarmed. It deduced it as a natural, conscious bodily response. The medical droid tapped hurriedly on its dapatad; shortly after, a doctor comes rushing into the ward, he approaches the vat to look at you.

Peering again through the glass, you can see through your squinting—and already stinging—eyes that the doctor’s mouth is moving, but the bubbling of the substances shrouded your hearing from any outside noise.

“Prepare to drain the patient’s Bacta vat,”

A loud rumble echoed in the back of your ears, your head jerked up to the source of the sound and saw the water level lowering. As the substance fell to the level of your breasts, you mentally prepare yourself to plant your feet on the floor and your palms to the walls of the tank once you needed to balance and support yourself.

Finally, the tank has been emptied—the remaining liquid gurgled under your feet as it disappeared into the drain. The glass whirred as it retracted into its round, metal frame and then the nurses helped your balance yourself. Their faint whispers of encouragement rang indistinctly in your ears.

“Hello there, can you hear me well?” asked the doctor.

“I… I suppose,” you groaned, hooking your grip on the nurse’s arm. You looked at your surroundings. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a medical facility, in Mons Golotha,”

“Mons Golotha? Where is that?”

“In the Outer Rim. Don’t worry, you’re safe here. We’ve been helping you recover,”

“It looks like you had quite a dangerous brush with death there,” the nurse added.

Still confused, you surveyed the room further—there were more droids manning the computers and the machines. It appears that you’re the only patient in this room. You blinked several times until your eyes adjusted to the light pooling in the dull, gray ward. Something didn’t sit right with you, but your waking up gave you a bit of a hangover that you can’t pinpoint it. Little did you know that the Second Brother is still submerged in his own tank in his own room and that you are in Inquisitor—rather, Imperial—territory.

The Inquisitors were informed in the comfort of their temporary lodges that you’ve finally awakened. The Seventh Sister smirked with satisfaction, as if her work given by Grand Inquisitor is close to its completion. At her mercy, she allowed you until tomorrow to rest, after that you will be sedated and transported to the main fortress; when she finished hearing the report, she resumed her meditation in peace.

You stayed in bed, fed with three square meals, regularly checked for your vitals, temperature, blood pressure and the like—this was your entire routine for a day and half.

The Seventh Sister’s given timetable is due. As a way to not startle you, the doctor was very subtle on your sedation in the guise of a treatment.

“Alright, [Y/N], the vapor that’ll flow out of this mask when you wear it will dissolve the smoke and particles that may have polluted your lungs when you inhaled the smoke from your accident,”

You nodded, “Okay.”

You lied down flat on your back first, then the doctor gingerly placed the transparent mask, then the medical droid switched on the machine at the doctor’s command. It growled and the vapor hissed through the tube up to your nose and mouth; the sound sort of lulled you to boredom, you thought that it was a hypnotizing sound that you slowly let your eyelids drop and lean your head further into the pillow.

“Just a few more milliliters until she’s fully sedated,” the doctor mouthed to himself, watching you lie perfectly still in your bed.

Ten minutes later, the medical droid’s readings indicate that you’re now asleep.

“Vitals are still at a normal and optimum level, she is amenable for transfer,” the medical droid added.

Through his own comlink, the doctor contacted the Seventh Sister.

“Is she _really_ unconscious now?”

“Yes, she won’t be able to recall a single thing before the sedation,”

“Good. Oversee the preparations for the transfer,”

The doctor nodded in compliance and the Seventh Sister switched off the transmission on her end. He immediately did as he was told and then you were transferred from your ward bed to the hovering gurney. It was a warden who escorted you to the main fortress, the apparatus used to administer the sedative is still attached to you as they wheeled you through the corridors.

* * *

Eventually, you’ve arrived to the prison block. At the end of it is the torture chamber especially designated for you. The Seventh Sister and the Fifth Brother were waiting inside the chamber, they turned to the door when they heard it whir and found you still as a rock in that gurney.

“Put here in,” the Mirialan ordered.

The warden pulled the gurney closer to the torture chair—with its restraints wide open, like an animal’s maw waiting to snap shut once its prey has fallen in—and put you to the machine. The restraints clamped shut when the warden stepped back, the metal clanged so loud that it startled him, making his shoulders jump. The warden was dismissed immediately and left the chamber.

The sedative wore off by the minute, the intensity of the light shone differently than what you recalled, and now you find yourself unable to move—you flinch your wrists and ankles to find polished, silver handcuffs that are three inches thick banding around them. Leaning in front of you is the mechanical limb of the torture chair with panels running with electrical current; you attempt to sink yourself farther into the bed, and the cold metal stung through your bleach-white tunic that the nurses dressed on you. Your heartbeat spiked again, the Inquisitors can sense the fear oozing out of you.

The Seventh Sister stepped out of the shadows, hands tucked behind her back.

“Oh don’t bother fighting it off, it’s not like you have the strength to break out of that,”

Your eyebrows furrowed, struggling to recognize her.

“You’re an Inquisitor, but I… I’ve never seen you before,”

“Who I am to you is not important. _You,_ on the other hand, know something we don’t—and we’d like you to let us in on that,”

“Oh I bet you do,” you spat.

The Seventh Sister liked your snark, she’ll give you that, but she didn’t like other people outclassing her. One flick of her finger and the Stormtrooper operating the machine flipped a switch; the limb with the electrical panels lowered closer to you until only an inch hangs between you and the bright, violet cracks.

In the next second, a jolt courses throughout your entire body. The metal cuffs on your wrists and ankles amplified the voltage and doubled the pain of the shock. You didn’t even get to take a deep breath, you were simply taken by surprise. The limb then retracted, returning to its original distance from you.

“She’s got a kick to it, doesn’t she? You’re gonna have more than just a kick if you don’t tell us what we want to hear,”

“I’ve had worse beatings!” you winced.

“I’ll bet you have, [Y/N],”

It didn’t matter how the Mirialan knew your name. She proceeded with your questions that you retorted with the perfect opposite of it—sarcasm.

“Tell us where the rebels are hiding, and we’ll let you go scot-free. We’ll even give you a headstart so you can warn your friends,”

“The last time someone gave me a bargain like that…” you panted, recovering from the shock. “They found my lightsaber sticking through their ribs.”

The Seventh Sister sighed.

 _This is gonna be a long day… but I don’t mind._ She thought.

Hours dragged on as you kept yourself mum, filling in the blanks of their questions with sarcasm or straight-up refusals. But for every time you decided to keep your mouth shut about the location of the rebels who staged the bombing of their outpost in Ulfin, you were returned with a shock of the torture chair—the voltage became more powerful and lethal than the last.

“Impressive,” the Fifth Brother commented. “Not many can withstand this many hours, let alone that high of a voltage, in the chair.”

“Perhaps, there’s a better way of persuading you,” the Mirialan chided.

From her pocket, she fished out her holodisk. She thumbs the button and out comes a figurine-sized projection of Cal. The faintest, sharpest inhale from you wasn’t spared from the Inquisitor’s keen sense of hearing. She smirked and glanced at you.

“Oh, you know him, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer, but it already feels like the Seventh Sister has seen through your tough-faced façade.

“The longer you stay in this chair, the more likely my troops are capable of finding him. Who knows? I could bag a complete package if he was siding with the rebels the whole time. Definitely likely.”

The rage rooting from the pain and the Seventh Sister’s taunting flared in your body. The Mirialan could almost feel the blaze of that anger pouring out of you. She catches a whiff of it and was intrigued.

Your body impulsively leaned away from the backrest and strained yourself to get at least an inch closer to the Seventh Sister, but you’re nowhere even near six inches in front of her.

“IF YOU DO SO MUCH AS PUT A FINGERNAIL ON HIS HEAD, I’LL MAKE SURE YOU GET TWENTY TIMES THE PAIN YOU’RE GIVING ME NOW!!”

“Oh, there we go. Yes, use that hate, that anger!” the sheer adrenaline rush caused the Seventh Sister to slam her fist against the wall of the operating computer. “TELL ME WHERE THEY ARE!!”

“I…” you hissed. “Will never… TELL YOU!!”

The Seventh Sister eased her shoulders.

“So be it,” she jerked her head to the operator. “Again! And don’t stop until I say so!!”

Your shallow, rapid breathing didn’t save your lungs to overcome the pain sent by a thousand to ten thousands volts coursing through your body. Your throat strained as you cry in agony, your fingers twisted and curled as the tendrils of electricity violently pricked the nerves, your body thrashed in all angles trying to alleviate the pain but it’s as though several daggers entered and left your body repeatedly.

Your head jerks back, unable to withstand any more of the gradual pain the longer it dragged on. The only thing that filled your eyes was the lamp that hung overhead and the cracks of compacted lightning from the electrical panels. You don’t know how much your heart can take. At the Seventh Sister’s mercy, she shot her hand up—signaling to stop—the Stormtrooper obeyed; it only was a ten-second breather, and she asked again.

“Where are they hiding?”

“In a Bantha’s arse,” you gasped.

Seventh Sister scoffed, she snapped her fingers and the torture resumed. Your mischievous snickering at your own joke was instantly replaced by a wail of pain. The longer you remained in that torture chair, the more the Inquisitors saw your rage and hate crawling out of you—and they relished each waking minute the darkness seeps out of you.

In the midst of your screams echoing across the entire chamber, the Seventh Sister stepped back into the shadows to join the Fifth Brother. She stood on the tips of her toes to reach his height, close enough for him to hear her, and she whispered.

“She will be a good Inquisitor.”

There was no worded response, but the Fifth Brother smiled in agreement. The violet light of the electrical current flashing and pooling over the surface of their faces as they watched you at the mercy of the torture chair.


	7. Lab Rat

Cal wakes up in a cold sweat.

“[Y/N]!!” he exclaimed as he shot up and heaved.

The image of you wailing in an ear-shattering agony, coated in a veil of violet lightning that covered you from head to toe, and eyes that are beyond recognition—it all burned in his mind, hotter than the fires of the explosives that tore down the tower. No amount of sleep can remove that from his system now.

He catches his breath as he was abruptly awakened by that horrid figment. He realizes he’s still in the cramped quarters in the rebel hideout—he’s all alone.

He curls up, drawing in his legs to his chest, props his elbows atop his knees while he rakes his blood-orange hair with his fingers—all of a sudden, he remembers the way you would do the exact same thing, sometimes you would hum softly a wordless lullaby—and then his heart ached. Parroting the way you caress him from his hair to his cheek didn’t seem to make it all feel better—it only made him miss you much more sorely.

A single tear escapes his eyes, and then another, and another… until a wet patch formed on the leg of his pants.

“You can’t be gone… you’re not…” he mumbles under his breath, he grips a clump of his hair caught in the spaces between his fingers as he buries his face into his knees.

“Bee…?”

Apparently, BD-1 was alerted by Cal’s waking from his nightmare. The little droid scampered towards his owner and nuzzled his head against the Jedi’s calf. The young boy didn’t budge, he retained his position as if nothing touched him or tried to get his attention. The only thing moving is his hunched back rising and falling as he breathes. Lulling himself to sleep was a struggle; for weeks, he had been restless, and even if he caught a wink of sleep, it will oftentimes be cut short by nightmares—such as this one.

Cal returned to his bed, pulling up the blanket up to his neck. BD-1 persisted to make himself seen-he stands right in front of the boy lying on his side.

“Sorry, BD… It’s gonna be a long night for me. Go ahead and set yourself to sleep mode if you like,” Cal muttered as he pets BD’s head gently.

The droid didn’t sleep until his owner dozed off first. Cal tossed and turned as he attempted to fall asleep. He tried everything: emptying his mind, reciting Jedi mantras in his head about any aspect he can think of—at least the ones he knows by heart—and remembering the serenity of the warm mornings where he’d meditate in the temple garden with Master Tapal. He was careful not to recall any memory of you because that would only worsen his insomnia—it would be instantly warped into horrendous scenes that his wild imagination makes for him.

Cal repeated the cycle until it bored him to sleep; when BD saw this, he switched to his sleep mode right away and scooted to his owner’s arm.

* * *

They kept you in that torture chair—day in, day out.

For the rest of the days that they continued to interrogate you, no words came out of your mouth when they demanded it. As a reply to your continuous rebelliousness, they would switch on the voltage and send it flying straight into your body. Regardless, you held your tongue.

The medbay wardens tried to feed you, little by little with scraps of foodstuff and rations. It was them who insisted they be allowed to check on you for vitals—since you’ve been receiving volumes of shock after your prematurely-concluded recovery. They’re quite astonished by the threshold of your body and its instinct to preserve you.

In protest, you didn’t bite into whatever they gave you in the first few days. Eventually, they gave up on their kindness and stopped—or so you’ve thought, when in fact they were personally commanded by the Seventh Sister to cease your feeding. However, your fasting didn’t hold for long; you had too much pride in regretting and wishing that you should’ve taken whatever food they were trying to give you—even if it was anything short of edible.

Ignoring the pain of the electrocution was much easier than ignoring the relentless growling of an empty stomach.

Keeping the rebels’ location hidden at the expense of your health was commended by the Inquisitor—and the Grand Inquisitor, no less, when he heard of it through reports.

“She’s even stronger than I initially thought. I seem to have underestimated her.”

“She has been silent for _days._ When we come to her and find her with her eyes closed, she’s not even asleep! She’s just… blatantly ignoring us. I’ve never seen a Jedi this…”

“Resilent.” The Fifth Brother finishes on the Mirialan’s behalf.

She growled, “I grow tired of this! Why not just set it to the highest voltage and leave it on until she dies?! We can hunt down the rebel faction no problem, along with the Jedi she cavorts with!”

“And waste your time in an empty goose chase? I’d rather not, if I were you,” the Grand Inquisitor, in a contrasting tone of voice from the Seventh Sister’s, scoffed through his hologram. “Jedi like her can be of value to us. All she needs is a bit more training.”

“Are you saying, Grand Inquisitor, that she’s to become one of us?”

“How else would you interpret what I said, child? If her spirit is broken, she’ll be easier to bend.”

The Grand Inquisitor concluded the transmission from his end, the pair of Inquisitors headed to the torture chamber.

The two exchanged glances, but it was the Mirialan who had the most shocked look between her and the gray humanoid. She was neither keen nor disdainful for having someone added up to their ranks, she just didn’t know how to feel about it. Whether she liked it or not, the Grand Inquisitor’s word is to be honored. If it’s any consolation, one new headcount would factor to the likelihood of the newcomer being the one assigned to even the most mundane of assignments.

In that very chamber, you’re still underneath the halo of a white light pooling above the very chair. Mist from the piping and hydraulics wafted about your calves, it was an eerie sight. Whenever the dead silence was your only friend, you thought that death was a much easier fate to accept, or perhaps you questioned why you even survived the explosion. You afforded the quiet moments where you struggled to empty your mind, but the thoughts of rage and hate were too loud; provoking you with the thought of Cal being found and sharing the same fate as yours was a catalyst—perhaps, that is what the Grand Inquisitor sensed, even from afar, and what convinced him to bring you into the fray.

The blast doors whipped open, but that didn’t do much in catching your attention. Anyone who came in and out didn’t matter to you, the sounds and sights were dull and bleak to you now; at this point, they’re all the same, faceless, sentient mannequins that come to glare or gloat at you every now and then, poking you for a reaction to see if you’ve dropped dead or just clinging to the last threads of dear life.

“She’s alive, but weak,” the Fifth Brother observed aloud.

The bags under your eyes were prominent, patches of red swelled on your arms from the constant electrocution—the more severe ones made your muscles bloat—and your unkempt hair shrouded your cheeks. Despite your shoddy appearance while strapped to the torture chair, the Seventh Sister squints to take a closer look at you, there was something about your eyes: still and peaceful, despite all of that suffering—to her, it appears as though you were only sleeping.

“Unlock the restraints,” ordered the female Inquisitor.

Doing as what they’re told, the operator set you free those cold, silver handcuffs at the push of a button. Without anything to hold you anymore, you gradually slid away from the bed of the torture chair, the Inquisitor pair stepped back as if you’re some kind of leper when you plopped limply to the floor—without an ounce of strength left in you to bring yourself up, at least on your knees.

The Seventh Sister stepped forward again, bent down to your level, angled your face as she clutched you quite roughly; moving it left and right, to examine you at a much closer view. She watched you struggle to lift your eyelids, slits barely revealed the color of your eyes, seconds later, you gave up and eyes closed shut.

“She’s alive, alright. Follow me.” She sternly ordered as she erected back up, turned tail and made her way to the door.

Seeing that you’re fully incapable of doing so, a pair of Stormtroopers took you by each arm and let your knees drag across the metal floor. They hauled you all the way to a training dojo. Your garish entrance took the practicing Purge Troopers by surprise, they paused their sparring session and stared; a single nod from the tall, gray Inquisitor prompted them to leave, they walked past you hooked to each Stormtrooper’s arm and sniggered on their way out.

“Jedi,” one said in a tone intending to insult.

When the dojo has been emptied by those who weren’t needed, the Stormtroopers dropped you and you plopped on the cold, glossy tile. The coldness stinging your cheek eventually woke you up, your body realizes that it’s not strapped to that terrible apparatus anymore—though your limbs ached when you moved them—and you craned your neck to face what’s in front of you.

“Get up,” the Fifth Brother bellowed.

And get up you did. Your knees were still wobbly and shook off the grogginess in your head as you studied the new room they’ve put you in.

“Where’ve you taken me this time?” your words rolled off your tongue, though you’re still partially coherent.

“You’re in our training dojo,” the Fifth Brother simply replied. A sinister smile played along his stony face. “We’re gonna play a little game, you se.”

“I don’t think I’m in the best shape to play along,”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter, you’re part of the game and if you wanna live—you gotta fight,”

“With what—my fists and legs?”

The Fifth Brother chortled, then provided you with a baton similar to a Scout Trooper’s. He tossed it and you failed to catch it in time as you’re still seeing double. You crouched to retrieve the baton and practiced the firmness of your grip with it.

“So, are you two gonna be my playmates?”

The Seventh Sister flashed a toothy grin, “No. We have someone better in mind.”

They retreated to the main hold—like the bridge to a command ship—in front of the dojo, it also served like a watching room for those who spectated training sessions as a pastime and a control room to manipulate the setting of the dojo’s environment. There was an awkward yet tense silence humming across the room, you looked around and notice every single rectangle on the wall that could be a door—anticipating for one of them to shoot open and set whatever enemy they have reserved for you pouncing to you with bloodlust.

The only thing that you needed to look at was the door just below the control room. The metal groaned and out of the shadows came a familiar face. The armor had been remade back to its original appearance, in the place of a red haloed saber was a lance, the helmet was unmistakable—it was the Second Brother in a second face-off against you. Even when you’re groggy, you can sense the flaring hate within the Second Brother, more intense than the combined heat of Tatooine’s binary suns.

As he strode forward, weapon in hand, you struggled to get yourself straightened up to prepare for a fight.

“You’re lucky they only gave me this pathetic electrostaff!” the Second Brother hissed, putting himself in a stance as he would with his own saber. He continued striding towards you who’s barely made a proper posture with your block against the incoming attack.

You’re envious that the Second Brother has recovered so soon, but then again, he wasn’t the one strapped to a torture chair and be electrocuted almost everyday until you were treading the tightrope between life and death.

You wished that you could have uttered a comeback in mind, but you were too weak, and you prioritized staying alive in this unfairly-matched duel.

Your deflect was flimsy and unskilled, as expected.

However, something inside you refused to die in an indignant circumstance such as this—thrown into a dojo like livestock, pitted against a fully-recovered enemy while you’ve barely had a proper shred of recovery or medication.

The Second Brother didn’t hold back, neither was he thrifty with his windows of opportunity—he made all of them count. Whenever he would see an opening from you, he pommels you with the electrical end of the staff on your rib, your shoulder, arm, leg, anywhere and everywhere he could get a jab at. Dodging his attacks or returning it seldom happened, all you were doing was side-stepping away from him and the lance. He retained his dexterity and nimbleness that you initially saw in your first encounter with him; though, he seemed much quicker than you remember, more difficult to catch up with, and certainly more annoying. His acrobatics made it worse for your eyes—as you can’t even see without the hazy, mirage-like doubles of the things you fix your eyes to.

“Come on, Jedi girl! You seemed to be so tough in our last fight!” taunted the Second Brother in a cackle. “Where’s that spark I saw? Don’t tell me the explosions outshone it?!”

As much as you wanted to, you could barely put up a fight. He simply stepped five inches to his right or left when he sees you lunging at him, you’d clearly miss and in turn, he’d jab you—except this time, he’s keeping the end stuck to your body for a few seconds longer. If he’s feeling sadistically indulgent, he’d keep it for as long as a minute or so.

“Come on! Show me that little tough girl front again!” he chortled. “Again, Jedi!”

He might not have sensed it, but the Second Brother’s fighting tactics were beginning to get into your nerves. It was genuinely annoying now; it was nauseating enough to catch up to his lunging and pouncing around, adding to the mockery he peppers in one-sided banters during the fight, and they’re fueling to your rage in this mismatch of a duel. This went on until your attacks became raggedy and graceless—a dramatic contrast to your original fighting style.

Finally! Just finally! You found a small burst of energy which seemed to grow by the second, though you didn’t know where it came from—it just naturally came to you. Whatever it was, you weaponized it more than that sorry excuse of a weapon in your hand. You paid back for the moments where you’re denied of a chance at hitting the Second Brother because he wasn’t taking you seriously, mostly due to your state. He met the same ferocity beneath that tawdry exterior, eyes burning brightly with a menacing passion that lit through the dangling locks of hair, and your blows were weak but they packed a punch compared to the first few moments.

You gained your momentum in this fight. The satisfaction of finally being at par with the Second Brother’s caliber—with your current condition—was intoxicating. You found yourself tethered to it and can’t seem to get enough.

Faster, more intense!

With every strike, your strength and dexterity returned.

At first, the Second Brother was amused. _Finally!_ He thought as a grin stretched across his face, albeit masked. _Some fun!_

His amusement was short-lived as he saw you trembling—not out of fear, but out of rage that could no longer be contained in the vessel that is your body. Slowly but surely, your body regained its confidence and composure; your stances were now more pronounced, the impact of the blows were much heavier, and your footwork was no longer faulty. This startled and amazed the Second Brother, Seventh Sister, and Fifth Brother altogether.

When you caught the Second off-guard with your burst of attacks, you cut the air with the baton—swinging it and landing its mark straight into the Inquisitor’s diaphragm. The two other Inquisitors in the bridge flinched in reaction, as if they felt the pain of your attack since they’ve been immersed with your duel ever since you started gaining the upper hand.

“Agh…!” the Second Brother winced, falling to his knees, the electrostaff fell to the glossy floor, the rhythm going from beat per beat until it faded out into a rattle.

“How’s that for a tough girl façade, you asshole?!” you snarled.

For good measure, as revenge for him humiliating you for the last time, you delivered a heavy overhead strike against the middle of his spine. The velocity of your swing was so intense, the Inquisitors heard the _whoosh_ from where they stand.

When you were done exacting revenge on the Second Brother, you flung the baton to the direction of the bridge—it was like a statement, but it was just a final compulsive action from you. The weapon ricocheted against the walls and then to the floor, creating a gong-like sound as it clattered around. When the two of them caught sight of your face—that fiery tenacity, and your eyes…

They could almost see the hate and anger in your bloodshot eyes.

“Interesting,” the Fifth Brother mused.

“Well now, I think I’m going to enjoy training duty for once,”

The two Inquisitors exchanged glances and snickered together while peering through the glass, staring at their new, little experiment— _you._


	8. The Rebirth and Anointment of the Twelfth Sister

“Hey, get up! It’s time for your daily exercise,” a Stormtrooper grumbled on the other side of the ray-shielded prison cell.

You sit there inside—eyes closed, in a meditation position on your knees, hands on top of them. Purposefully ignoring the guards, they tagged you as stubborn, dismissive, and ignorant. They can’t comprehend how you’re perfectly unmoved by the shouting and the banging of their weapons against the walls to draw your attention.

You can hear them, alright. You just chose not to listen.

 _A lie._ Your mind spoke.

Ever since they saw your display against the Second Brother, the so-called “daily exercise” is a kind word they used for the gladiatorial training they throw you into. Everyday, they’d force you out of your cell—which, ironically, is the safest place you could ever be in this predicament—and each time you resisted, a strike on the head or the first body part they see is what you get in return. Once in the dojo, you face a wave of enemies; at first it was a batch of Scout Troopers—they were quite easy to fight—next they started mixing it up with Scout _and_ Purge Troopers, and eventually they used Purge Troopers for your duels, the latter persisted for the rest of your days in the prison.

Sometimes no one knows who is whose training dummies—regardless, the fights went on and the Purge Troopers treated it like a breath of fresh air every time.

“HEY!” the Stormtrooper, impatient of your unresponsiveness, punched the wall at you. Your reaction defeated its purpose. “Do you hear me?! I said stand up!”

“Hey, don’t cause such a ruckus. It’s just one kid,”

“Are Jedi always this stubborn?”

The second Stormtrooper made an incoherent, indifferent grumble as he shrugged his shoulders, wanting to end the small talk and just wait until your budged. When there was nothing but silence, spare the muttering complaints of the guards in the midst of the silence, you relished the peace again.

“Well, finally,” you quietly tell yourself and hung your head down.

There were worse things to worry about.

Visions revolving in hate, anger, and even death—these were the images that you cannot purge from your mind. Not even the purification of meditating proved to be of any help. Something was clouding your mind in the Force and bent them to their malignant will.

Much later, the ray shield died down at the push of a button. The same, irate Stormtrooper enters your cell, but you remained still as a stone. His boot harshly bumps into your knee.

“Hey,” he nudged. “Stand up!”

Nothing.

Again, he kicked your knee, hard enough for it to bruise in a few minutes.

When he’s had about enough, he kicked you in the stomach—he made it precise for the tip of his boot to rupture your gut. As you were weak—which he took advantage of—you curled up, hugging yourself with your arms coiled around your torso, you writhed in pain while supporting your entire weight with one hand planted on the floor.

“Don’t make me hit you again—though I wouldn’t even need a reason!“ he snarled.

You sharply, nasally inhaled; fingernails scratching against the dirty metal floor of the cell as you wait out for the pain to alleviate. Your eyes flicked open and your head jerked up, shooting the Stormtrooper an unwelcoming, hateful look in the eye—he didn’t want to admit it, but he flinched when he saw your bloodshot eyes: dark circles framing it, and the linings swelling in a burning pink hue.

“Come on, Jedi, we got a long ahead of—”

A soft rumble in the air hummed around the cell. Apathetic eyes stared at the Stormtrooper, watching him gag, desperately gasp for air through the barely-breathable helmet, and claw at his neck. He submitted to his knees, in the same level as you sitting down leisurely in the middle of the room, and it’s as though you two saw eye-to-eye—through that black tinted visor, he catches an arrogant smirk curling at the corner of your mouth, and he realizes too late that he’s crossed you.

You were neither a Jedi nor an Inquisitor. For now, you were something in between. Your madness is basically limbo.

You slowly raise your hand, your fingers are curled in a chokehold but there was still a gap around them, though it didn’t stay that long because with an abrupt closing motion of the hand—a popping sound came from the Stormtrooper, his head had twisted to an abnormal angle, and then his corpse made a loud thud that alarmed his companion.

“Hey, what’s going on over th—?”

Horrified, the Stormtrooper choked on the last words of his sentence. He stood there frozen in the hallway, contemplating whether to step inside to pull the dead Stormtrooper out of the cell; his course of action was to contact the maintenance assigned to the prison block to get you. The crew was equally afraid of you, but since they know in themselves that they’ve never crossed you, they’ve got nothing to fear—although it’s the way you look at people is what scares them, it’s rather more of an upward glare than a look.

Minutes later, the Second Brother strolls into the prison block as if it was some kind of leisurely pastime. At his command, the ray-shield disappeared and he let himself in your cell.

“Hello, little thorn, can’t be late for your daily exercise,”

“Says who?”

“Says me, the Seventh Sister, the Fifth Brother, _and_ the Grand Inquisitor,”

“I’ve never seen the Grand Inquisitor. Though, none of you have autonomy over me.”

The Second Brother stood still for a brief second, his shoulders rose as he took in a big sigh. The hand behind his back hoisted to his helmet, the duraplast clicked and the mechanisms of the mask hissed as it loosened up. This was your first time seeing the bare face of the Inquisitor.

A human male, his fair skin was an open book written with scars and bruises—a few of which were by your own hand during the exercises—a pair of brown irises twinkled but you detect the apathy in them—the expression in them was a dramatic contrast to what you imagined him to be without that mask. He seems to be growing out his shaven head, there was a short yet noticeable length of hair. From his complexion, you wagered he’d be in his thirties. He bent down while keeping his helmet in one hand and tried to parlay with you in getting out of your cell.

“While you sit in these sorry walls, _we_ have perfect autonomy over you,” he raises his free hand, a single finger extended. For each word or two, he poked your forehead to make sure you got the point. “No matter what you think.”

“You’re still not going to make me,”

He did a series of facial expressions to highlight his mock pensiveness: rolling his eyes, bobbing his head as he made a squeaking noise with his tongue against his teeth.

“Well, we don’t have the time to be very difficult, little thorn,” he clicked. “Unless, of course, we can ask your sweet Cal Kestis to make some arrange—!”

In the blink of an eye, you repeated the same action with the Second Brother, only this time you’re using two hands to choke him using the Force. They’ve exploited your mind by using Cal and whatever predicate they can come up with to trigger you—and they loved it when you’re easily stimulated by the mere mention of his name.

They’ve fashioned you into their personal time bomb and plaything altogether, saying the “magic word” to make a puppet of you and your emotions.

“Provoke me again with his name and what you plan to do with him—it’s your neck I’m snapping next!” you angrily growled.

The Second Brother tried to fight your chokehold, but he did it with more grace and dignity that he can afford. It was never your intention to instill fear, but your aggression is what cements it to everyone in this fortress. You expected him to gag, but you heard hints of snickering while he claws at his neck; regardless, you continued choking him.

A few more minutes lapsed before you decided to let him go out of your own volition. He coughed as he fell lower to your level, you’re practically looking down on him right now as he catches his breath.

 _Look how pathetic…_ you thought.

Over the Second Brother’s shoulder, you spotted the Fifth Brother standing in front of the door, unamused and grumbling like a freighter’s engine. You shot him the same bitter look you gave to the Stormtrooper and the Second Brother.

“One last time, [Y/N], I personally don’t like repeating myself—or anyone else, for that matter.”

The Second Brother regained his composure, dusted off his armor, and stood by. When you didn’t obey the Fifth Brother, he took matters to his own hands—literally. Shoving past the Second Brother, the other Inquisitor dragged you out of your cell.

“Get up and follow.”

The Second Brother hooked his arm around yours and followed the Fifth Brother.

“Where are you taking me?”

“No questions. Just follow.”

They escorted you to the dojo again. Waiting at the center of the room is the Seventh Sister, this time she wasn’t wielding an electrobaton, she was holding her own red haloed saber. The Second Brother shoved you away to face her; she raises her hand, in it was a weapon and she tossed it to you.

Your fingers trembled, you reluctantly wrapped them around the hilt. The steely coldness eventually warmed up around your palm. The glossy, dark grey finish distorted your reflection when you held it level to your face. The female Inquisitor stepped back—so did her two other companions—and ignited her saber. Your heart dropped to your feet when you heard two more buzz in succession. All of a sudden, your knees felt wobbly, you spun around, looking at the crimson rods of light glowering over their sinister faces.

“Go on and fight us,” the Seventh Sister initiated.

She didn’t want to hear anything from you. She immediately put herself in a stance, and then the two other followed. Having no choice, you did the same—one push of a button ignited a single beam, until you spotted the second switch and the latter half emitted out of its cylinder.

The three of them ganged up on you, but it was the Second Brother and Sixth Sister who were more aggressive with you. The Fifth Brother fought with great calculation and precision, conserving his strength for the next attack only to overwhelm you while assisting the other two. Lost in the thrill of the fight, the same burst of energy returned to you.

It was addictive. You didn’t know it was poisonous, and yet you kept on using it to your advantage. You know it to be wrong, but you cannot will yourself to break away from it. Like a leech, you’ve bitten into it.

And you liked it.

“Raaarrgh!!” the Seventh Sister roared as she swings down her saber.

You deflected the two with both ends of your given saber and pushed them back. You recompose yourself into a much more proper stance, then fixate on the Seventh Sister; you’re able to match her strength—if not her caliber—and equal your odds in this duel. However, you still have the Second Brother to deal with.

“Whoa, look at her go, Sister!!” the Second Brother cackled.

The Seventh Sister comes charging right towards you, but she was blocked at the last second, and before she could even pull away to afford an attack—you planted your sole of your shoe flat onto your stomach. She staggered and clutched her torso with one hand; quickly, you turn your attention to the Second Brother, who was evidently much feistier than Seventh Sister. He took most of your time—a pair of dual-ended sabers cutting through the air, their lights curving as they’re swung by the wielders, and sparks flew to light up the rest of the room.

“I guess the tough girl is back now, huh, little thorn!? Cal Kestis would be so impressed! You could practically kill him _for abandoning you_!”

That did it. Relying again once more on that intoxicating energy that granted you the strength of five Jedi Masters at best, a massive push of the Force sent everyone flying—even the hulking, six-feet-or-so Fifth Brother wasn’t spared by that immense wave of energy!

Only you remained standing in the circle, you looked around—there were so many targets to choose from! You had a vendetta for each one of them. You strode towards the one who gave out the taunt first—the Second Brother—while he was still shaking off the nausea, he reacted at the last minute and lousily deflected your hits.

Left end, right end… they all flung to his direction and he could not keep up with the speed of your wielding while suppressed of fighting space. He could only block you for so long.

When you sensed his sword arm becoming weak, his jawbone met the hard sole of your shoe and rendered him incapacitated. Next was the Seventh Sister, she was just about to hoist herself up back on her feet until she saw you sprinting toward her—she had time, albeit little of it, to evade you but your sabers still clashed. She kept up with your pace—all the twirls and flashy footwork, she matched it all—but she was overwhelmed by how heavy your attacks dealt. You bore your weight on her as she deflected you and never has she ever felt so intimidated in all her life! Your eyes—now devoid of empathy and flooded with rage—blended perfectly with the redness of the saber. You were satisfied when you saw the Seventh Sister struggling, it’s plastered all over her face!

“Oh, look at you, the shrewd sister is overtaken,” you taunted, basically parroting the Second Brother’s trademark singsong. “By a damn prisoner! Hah! How does it feel to have your pride stabbed right into its gut, huh?”

Before she could even react and respond, you staggered the female Mirialan again and this time she stayed down—your fist to her cheek made sure of it. The third and final enemy: the Fifth Brother. It was brawn against brains. Strength versus dexterity. After all, what good is brute strength if you can’t even utilize it efficiently?

“Come on, big guy—I’m wide open!”

The Fifth Brother wasn’t a fan of being taunted. He charges on like a deranged Reek, his saber brandished up in the air, ready for an overhead strike but you slipped away in the blink of an eye and slashed him from behind. All three of them exchanged glances with one another and then nodded in agreement, as if they’ve had a Plan Z all along; three Inquisitors come charging towards you, but before they could lay a finger on your hair, you planted your fist hard into the tiled floor—your knuckles swelled and then bled the same time the tiles cracked.

At first, the cracks stayed only within the radius of your fist, until they multiplied and spread. From thin crosshairs to actual breakages along the surface, the marble broke into shards and was sent flying with the current of the Force energy that sourced from your punch—like seashells tugged by the waves as they’re beached to the shoreline. The shards cut through the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother’s cheeks, they had to shield themselves with their hands—consequentially getting their palms and fingers nicked as well.

It was too strong for them to fight, rendering you untouchable until the wind died down. The loaned lightsaber which you used so skillfully fell from your grasp and clattered to the floor.

Silence. Soft, tired gasping of air. And then a single, slow series of applause followed.

Everyone searched for the applauder.

The Grand Inquisitor.

He was hauntingly terrifying, alright. Ashen as bone, blood-red streaks painted on parts of his face, and a pair of topaz-gold eyes. He walked past the felled Inquisitors and stood in front of you—his height obviously lumbered over you that you had to step back to fully acknowledge him and look him in the eyes without breaking your back.

“Well, well,” he cooed, bringing his hands behind his back. “It seems that we have a new face among us.”

You panted one last time, and used the Force to bring the haloed saber back to your hand. You poised your demeanor in front of the Pau’an, and with a dark, sinister grace—you bend your knee, the black, weathered saber is presented in your hand to the Grand Inquisitor. A smirk curled along his ribbed skin, showing a corner of his jagged, pointed teeth.

“Welcome to the fray, Twelfth Sister.”


	9. The Lost, To Be Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my laptop is officially dead but I'm finding ways how to write and publish despite that inconvenience.

The forgers at the Imperial armory fashioned your mask with a hybrid of square and triangular accents. Meanwhile, you donned the ash-gray ensemble that goes underneath your armor plates. In the set, you’re granted a pair of pauldrons, gauntlets, greaves to go with the calves of your pants, and a breastplate with a red stripe along at the hem. They all fitted like a glove.

The piece de resistance is all that’s left.

You watched the Imperial armor technician weld and solder the helmet until it morphed into their ideal, desired shape. Sparks flew, shimmered to light the room, and then die out almost instantly. Bit by bit, you’re starting to see his artistic vision realized.

“I do not discriminate. Newcomer or otherwise, I put a lot of attention to detail in all of my crafts,” the technician thought out loud, perhaps sensing your curiosity and worry that it might not look as good as the others.

“I’m sure you do, considering how many we are right now,”

“It doesn’t matter to me whether there’s dozens of you. I can make one unlike the other—always.”

He harrumphed a scoffing laugh as a response, taking pride in his declaration before continuing.

The armor technician has finished the shaping phase, next he lets it sit for a minutes before cooling it with vapor. You watched the whole process with great intent and curiosity, at the same time, it’s as though you’re watching your new face being created right in front of your very eyes.

He gingerly took the helmet in both of his hands, cradling it with an esteemed carefulness—treating it with royalty and high regard, for crafting an Inquisitor’s mask was a heavy yet rewarding task to complete. This particular forger was an expert crafter, he hand-designed and sculpted most if not all Inquisitors’ helmets and masks. Feeling the weight of yours in his hands, he carefully stepped away from his smelter and toward you; like a monarch’s crown, he presented it to you and inched it closer for you to take it.

“Twelfth Sister,” addressed the armorer.

The gloss of the duraplast once cooled distorted your reflection on its convex surface. A part of you doesn’t recognize this face, the other acknowledges it but doesn’t accept the reality—at least not yet.

From the armorer’s hand to yours, the helmet rests in its rightful owner’s grasp. You hoist it to the top of your head and then lowered it once you’ve aligned it. One moment, your eyes were shrouded by black, and then the next thing you know you’re seeing red—literally—through the visor of your helmet, though you see things as clearly as you’d normally do.

“It’s a perfect fit,” you said blankly, although the comment delighted the armorer very much.

He bowed and returned to the front of his smelter, he’d afford small glimpses of you getting used to the helmet. From your end, there were functions that you’re new to—such as infrared scanning—and there were buttons disguised as accents on the side of the mask that respond to these features.

“Interesting,” you mouthed to yourself, not caring whether the armorer heard it or not.

You tried breathing through the mask, fortunately for you, this won’t hinder the strenuousness of your fighting style—let alone movements in general—as well as catching your breath. For a moment, it’s as though the same world was unraveled before you with brand new eyes—ones that stopped fighting the hatred and used it as strength, rage that blinds yet helps you see with great clarity, the intoxication to power was a permanent leech on your skin and you relished it.

Now completely outfitted in your Inquisitor’s garbs, you make your exit out of the armorer’s chamber and head out to join your “brothers and sisters” in conference. Being the newest, therefore the lowest in rank, the crew and Stormtroopers have mixed feelings about you—though you could care less.

They looked at you with curious yet skeptical eyes as you strode past them. You arrived in the conference hall, heads turned to the door at the sound of the sharp, metallic buzz and then revealed you standing on the other side.

“Ah, the newbie, right on time!” the male Twi’lek Inquisitor chirped, his pointed porcelain white teeth standing out of his glistening, obsidian-black skin.

You stepped in, took that one gap in the line and seemed to have closed the circle surrounding the holotable. You didn’t miss much of the briefing, though they picked up where they left, you intently studied all the holographs that are flashed on the table: battle tactics, ship routes, and person profiles. You listened to the Second Brother explain everything down to the last detail; you saw what kind of person he is when the two of you aren’t swinging your sabers at each other’s neck, trying to kill one another.

The next part of his presentation included a whole collection of head shots. He explains that they are the current, surviving Jedi across the galaxy. The images of unnamed faces encircled the holotable and slowly rotated for each and every one to see. Below their portraits are short, bulleted write-ups of the latest reports about them: be it last known locations, current agendas, potential accomplices, and recent activities.

After the one you’re looking at, the next one made you quiver in your armor—you can spot that splash of red hair, a naïve freckled face, that boyish charm and a scrapper’s roguishness from a parsec away.

Cal’s head shot rotated and froze right in front of you; blank, jade eyes blending in with the fluorescent blue of the holograph as it stared through your helmet’s visor.

The most crucial part of your past life stares back at you.

The male Twi’lek, namely the Fourth Brother, noticed you in the corner of his eye, sensed your uneasiness and discovered your intrepidity replaced with a sudden, dramatic loss of self-confidence. The Second Brother continued his exposition.

“According to our latest intel, these are the Jedi currently in hiding. Some of them are so bold enough to join factions, such as the traitor—the former admiral Jax Beneb who made with a faction in Ulfin,”

“This one, Cal Kestis, joined them not too long ago. He travels with the Mantis crew comprised of its pilot, a Lateron named Greez Dritus, the right-hand and former Jedi Cere Junda, and… er… a witch. We don’t know the latter’s background, we can only confirm she’s Dathomirian.”

“She’s called a Nightsister,” you corrected the Second Brother.

“He and his crew got themselves involved with the uprising in Ulfin,” the Fifth Brother continued.

“Until the Imperial fortification was bombed—no thanks to Twelfth Sister right here.” The Seventh Sister finished with a voice of chagrin and sarcasm.

There were soft gasps and quiet murmurs amongst the other Inquisitors who apparently had no prior knowledge.

“In my defense, I wasn’t one of you that time,” you dryly chuckled before adding. “Took a few good voltages before you broke me, eh Seventh Sister?”

Feeling outclassed, Seventh Sister rolled her eyes and avoided eye contact from you. The sight of her furrowed eyebrows and the crease on the side of her nose warranted a satisfied, mischievous smirk. You bobbed your head at an angle while the next head shot proceeded, and then Cal’s image rotated to the female red-skinned humanoid with cropped brown hair on your left—this one is known as the Eighth Sister.

Second Brother continued with his plan, catching everyone’s attention by clearing his throat and getting back to the objective at hand. The point was to fan out to selected planets and systems where the Jedi stragglers ought to be and hunt them down—which is their original prerogative ever since the Inquisitorius was formed. Before anyone else could call it, you pressed a button which prompted the ring of head shots to spin wildly until the picture of Cal glows right in front of you.

“I’ll find him, along with Cere Junda,”

“Pheh! Hey, who says you get to have first dibs?!” the Eighth Sister screeched.

“Do you know them like _I_ do?” you raised your voice against her and you were met with a stifled silence due to the lack of a good answer. “You’d be more productive in recovering junk parts salvaged by Jawas than finding the Mantis crew and the Jedi boy!”

The same silence hung around the holotable. You seem to have a knack in making anyone who spoke against you to hold their tongues. It seems everyone was waiting for you to elaborate on your rationale.

“I know the pilot’s flying tactics as well as Cere Junda’s technical tinkering that go hand-in-hand. The Nightsister is not to be underestimated lest you won’t be meeting her good side; and her powers exceed urban legend—she can cloak a ship like a normal cloaking device would, she _can_ raise the dead, she can bury you alive six feet under without even touching a hair on you. That’s how potent her magick is. The boy, on the other hand, I know the most—his fighting, his emotions. Point is: I’m the best chance in finding them.”

You glanced left and right, searching for an objecting reaction from the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, and then looked straight into Second Brother’s eyes.

“And _you_ can’t deny that, Second Brother. So do the two right beside you.”

The rest of the Inquisitors turn to the Second Brother for his reply, he gave in and he cannot deny that cold, hard fact—that you were once in connivance with these people. And so, you’re granted with your chosen targets; the others followed suit in selecting which Jedi to go after.

* * *

Cal wakes up in a cold sweat again. It has become a frequent occurrence, an unwanted habit that he’s trying so hard to kill.

The weeks turned into months, he’s honestly lost count that he had to ask someone else.

They’ve moved on from Jax Beneb’s rebel faction and went off-world. At first, it was difficult convincing the boy that they had to go and leave the planet, as there’s nothing coming back to him as much as he hoped, and whatever he’s waiting for is just dead air. He had developed a destructive habit of drowning himself in trances—he’s practically returned to where he was before: where he loses control in meditation, doing so has distorted his subconscious vision; he eats only once a day—sometimes not at all—and locks himself up in his room. BD-1 is his only companion through and through, but not even the tiny droid can get a word out of the Jedi boy.

The bracelet, _your_ bracelet, is now worn around his wrist; but in the first time he’s secured it on his arm, the leather cord felt like it was burning and searing through his skin, but when others would take a look at it there’s nothing out of the ordinary. The metal pendant, with the scorch marks obscuring the finish, felt like a red-hot branding iron on his arm, his hand twitched and jerked, yet he couldn’t bring himself to swat away or rip the trinket off.

He hated the pain, but it was the only comfort he knew of remembering you by.

A self-imposed penance.

He blames himself for not coming sooner to get you out.

“[Y/N] would hate to see you like this, Cal,” Merrin started to scold.

There was nothing the Nightsister got out of the Jedi.

When he looked at her straight in the eye, she flinched; and then she got a closer look of the sorry state he’s in—there were dark circles around his eyes, the swelling and the redness of the lining of his eyes suggested restless nights whiled away with crying, untreated cuts and bruises spotted his knuckles and the damning evidence is the small yet noticeable streaks of blood on the gray walls.

“Merrin, I can’t crawl out of the grave that I’ve dug for myself,” Cal shuddered, his voice muffled as his mouth was blocked by his knees folded and drawn to his chest. “I know she’s still here. And I’m talking like the sentimental kind, no, _I really know._ You have to believe me. You all must think I’m crazy.”

“You don’t see or hear any of us saying so,”

“I know, I just… I don’t know if I’m imagining overthinking it but I just feel like you guys are only humoring me,”

“I don’t do that kind of thing, Cal, it’s not in my nature,” Merrin shook her head. “But I miss [Y/N] too. More than you’d like to know.”

Cal sighed and didn’t speak further. Merrin dismissed herself out of his bedroom and reminded him that Cere had left a plate of dinner for him before closing the door. When he was left alone again, he hung his head low and ran his fingers through his loose, unkempt hair.

He had been alone for most of his life, but this was a different kind of loneliness—one that he isn’t entirely used to. The emptiness, the silence, and the depression bore an alien, coldly terrifying air that hung heavily around his bedroom. The engine hum drowned out his sobbing as he tucks himself away in bed, deliberately forgetting his meal outside.

Cere feels all of that grim emotion pooling inside that room, she wonders how much of those feelings will she pick up if she opens that door—could she take it? Will she be overwhelmed? These were the questions she asked herself.

“Give him some more time. I don’t think he needs us right now, Cere,” Greez glumly said, stopping her in her tracks in any attempt of consoling Cal.

Cal could not sleep—another problem he’s dealing with. He lies with his back flat on the bed, tears trickle down his temples and pools on his pillow just below his ears, he feels like he’s nestled in his deathbed. He can close his eyes, but he cannot catch a wink of sleep. Sometimes, he mistakes dreaming for meditation—of the other way around.

As the meeting pronounced adjourned, they scrambled out of the conference hall while you’re left alone. Arms crossed with one another, you stared at the set of head shots you projected on the table—Cal and Cere. Even though you know them so well, you wondered what kind of information the spies have written about them in their reports.

Your eyes trailed to the write-ups for each profile.

_CAL KESTIS_

_Last known location: Ulfin City in Pevera, Goltan System_

_Potential accomplices: Cere Junda, Greez Dritus (shipmate), unidentified Dathomirian female_

_Recent activity: Involvement in rebel-initiated terrorist assault_

_Charges: Conspiracy and acts of terrorism against the Empire_

_CERE JUNDA_

_Last known location: Ulfin City in Pevera, Goltan System_

_Potential accomplices: Cal Kestis, Greez Dritus (shipmate), unidentified Dathomirian female_

_Recent activity: Involvement in rebel-initiated terrorist assault_

_Charges: Conspiracy and acts of terrorism against the Empire_

You sighed as you finished reading through the facts of their profiles. You turn away from the holotable and stand in front of the mirror that oversees the operations happening outside the Fortress in Mons Golotha. It’s originally a spice mine owned by a crime syndicate who capitalized in the illegal spice trade, but since the occupation and establishment of the Fortress Inquisitorius, the propriety was handed over to the Empire.

Through the window you watch the moving specks that are the people slaving away to harvest the raw, unprocessed spice, loading them into crates and then into freighters. But the turmoil of these pitiful workers weren’t your focus, you’re channeling it to finding Cal’s connection in the Force and through the Force. The storm in your mind has calmed for a time, allowing you to think and meditate clearly; even in the darkness, you see a light at the end of the path. You pursue it, as you run towards it like an excited, curious child you utter his name.

_Cal…_

His eyes shot up, he was on the verge of falling asleep already until he heard his name in the distance. He sat up, surveyed the bedroom and found nothing. He shrugged it off as nothing and decided to lie back down… but the voice called again.

_Cal..._

Now this time, he recognizes the voice. He bolted up.

“[Y/N]?!” he gasped.

_Where are you?_

“Where are _you_?”

You didn’t answer, one question led to another.

_I need to find you. Tell me where you are._

“I… I’m in—”

“So, Twelfth Sister! How’s the hunt coming along?”

The boisterous Fourth Brother interrupted you and deprived you of the most vital part of your plan. He barges right into your personal space; before he could utter another word, you grabbed him in a chokehold using the Force and slammed him against the window wall. The impact was so hard that a crack appeared right behind his head almost like an icy halo.

The grit of your teeth hissed out the words, “What. Do you. Want?”

He gurgled his words but turned out into frothy noises, you saw him tap for submission on the glass and his ankles buckling.

“What is it that you have to say that is so important that you had to interrupt me and my meditation!?”

“I…. _Guhhkk!_ Wanted to ask if… _aagghhk!_ You plan to go alone!”

You released the Twi’lek, he fell to his knees coughing and clutching his neck.

“I work alone. Go.”

You turn away and wait for the Fourth Brother to leave your sight. Despite calling each other brother and sister, there was no filial connection amongst one another; simply put, it was only tolerance and putting up with each other’s bull. You, on the other hand, hate everyone. Some of them may have not played a part on your turning, but you can’t help but remain hostile towards them—the Eighth Sister deduced that it’s a normal feeling when you’re the fledgling of the Inquisitorius.

You leave the room and make for the hangar to your TIE Fighter.

Meanwhile, Cal was met again with silence and the ecstasy he felt in hearing your voice—even just in his head—died with his melting smile. He sighed and slipped under his sheets again, his heart ached as he coaxed himself to sleep.

Another long night awaits.


	10. Into the Hunt

Relying on the spies’ intel didn’t cut it anymore, so getting out there was the best course of action. You perfectly knew that this is no race against the other Inquisitors, and each Jedi is just hunted game in the eyes of the Grand Inquisitor, Darth Vader, and the Emperor altogether.

You marched to the hangar with a graceful, poised stride. When you saw the hangar officers conversing by the entrance, they stiffened at the sight of you.

“Prepare my ship!” you barked.

The mechanics and engineers scrambled to your TIE Fighter—distinguishable by its black body, a red intercrossed stripe making the cockpit look like a rifle’s reticle from the outside—you watched them inspect, recalibrate, and refuel the vehicle before confirming that it’s safe for travel.

“All engines go for your TIE Fighter, Twelfth Sister,”

“Good,”

You climbed the ladder to the cockpit and made yourself comfortable. The mechanics scurried to detach the hooks and cables strapped to the vessel as you pump up the engines. The hangar attendant waved his signal rods in front of your cockpit as you slowly hover forward, following the path the attendant is carving for you, when you inched closer to the open air you cranked the throttle’s lever and accelerated. The rotors rippled out a ring of dust and air as it slowly gained some velocity, and then you zoom out of the hangar like a black comet and out of Mons Golotha.

In less than 20 minutes, the X1 TIE Fighter’s speed hindered as soon as it entered Mons Golotha’s exosphere. Staring back at you through that cockpit windshield is the star-dotted vacuum of space.

“Okay, Cal sweetheart, where could you be hiding?” you mutter to yourself as you fire up the nav computer.

You drive the TIE forward, farther and farther away from the orbiting moon, you weren’t trying to pick up a signal—you’re trying to find some peace, ironically, in the dead blankness of the galaxy in the hopes to pick up where you left in your meditation earlier. Your grip loosened, no more than a delicate, dainty hold of the steering wheel, you let go and let yourself get lost in concentration.

The heavy, gloomy hum of space helped you drown out all of the white noise in order for you to focus better. A silent call whose echo reaches as far as the system in the ten parsecs. You struggle to recall the image of the place where you saw Cal in—that’s your next best shot in finding him.

A blinding red hue—it’s either morning or afternoon wherever he is. You could even feel the prickling heat underneath your suit.

An arid wasteland. A single city perched atop one of the mesas erected across the sandy, barren expanse.

This planet is wholly new to you.

You see Cal standing atop a mesa whose surface has cracked, brought upon by intense drought, it overlooks the small city not larger than half a quadrant of Coruscant’s city block. The image sharply jabbed its way through your skull, causing you to flick your eyelids up, and return to reality.

“Jeddah!” you gasped its name.

The place is unheard of to you, going back to Mons Golotha to check the archives would prove to be inconvenient. The next plausible move is to follow your instincts. You crane the neck of the nav computer so it faces you, then your fingers tapped away with the buttons—it was strange, though you weren’t startled, you knew _exactly_ what its coordinates are, and so you charted your course to Jeddah.

When the computer screen glowed green and showed a map of the destination, without reluctance, you punched it—pushing the steering forward and the TIE Fighter cuts through the empty space like an arrowhead.

* * *

**_JEDDAH_ **

Cal sits at the edge of the exact mesa where you saw him in your vision, taking under the stout branches of a dead tree. He’s lost count of the days you’ve been gone, he wagered it to be roughly a month now—and he still hasn’t moved on, he refuses to. Gradually, his new habits have become routine to him, not that he’s gotten any better; he remains stoic, almost unfeeling, and his fighting has lost its grace.

If only you could see him now—he’s riddled with sear marks either from his pastime tinkering or the miss-by-a-hair grazes from Stormtroopers’ blasts, bruises, and brand new scars. He refuses healing from Merrin’s magick and makes do with the stims BD-1 supplies for him; but truthfully, he prefers your Force Healing. He misses the warm touch of your palm flat on his skin, wherever his injury might be, the soothing sensation might as well be a thing of the past for him.

The humid wind blows over his cheeks, red sand pricks at his freckles. He sits there, eyes closed, feeling for something cannot name yet knows wholeheartedly.

“[Y/N]…” he mouthed. The utterance of your name is carried away by the wisp of sand.

Nothing.

He yearned to feel it again. He had hoped he would.

His meditation bore no fruit due to his desperation, impatience, and a directionless, bottled up anger.

“Come on…” he growled, squeezing his eyes shut as the rays of the sun blazed through the spaces between the tree branches.

Over several parsecs away, Cal’s voice saying your name—all but a whisper—and a deep humming rang altogether behind your ears. In the first few minutes, you’re unbothered by it, until it did reach you. Your eyes on the windshield wandered, searching the skies for the source, spotting planets and moons here and there.

Cal locked in on the connection, his furrowed eyebrows now relaxed, his breathing calmed and he maintained the ideal, tranquil stillness of his meditation.

The humming grew louder, it evolved into a deeper, more baritone rumbling—like a stampede in the distance—you kept looking for its origin, but neither a single planet nor moon in the system you’re in seem to have the answer. You lent a few more minutes of listening in, hoping you’d make sense of it until you picked up the same familiar sensation as earlier.

“[Y/N]…?” asked Cal, confirming your presence through the Force.

You didn’t speak, you exploited the connection to clear out the cloudiness surrounding your objective. The red mesa in the desert appeared before your eyes, a dead tree, and the city overlooking the city sitting atop a single, erect rock pillar large enough to cradle it.

_[Y/N]…! Please…!_

A wicked grin snaked on your face. Your jaw clenched and your eyes had a sinister glint.

“Found you!” you hissed.

According to your nav, you’re two systems away from Jeddah. You pulled the computer by its metal neck, your fingers flying all over the keyboard as you calculate the jump to lightspeed.

Never have you ever punched the buttons on the dashboard of your fighter, you were particularly fond and careful of this TIE Fighter, though the excitement of finally spotting your prey caused you to crank the steering wheel forward so hard that the cogs inside groaned, consequently making the thrusters roar with great enthusiasm and haul the vessel at its full speed.

You grinned as you put the pedal to the metal with your fighter, you licked your lips and smirked.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m coming for you.”

The young Jedi got out of the trance and he’s out of breath, exhilarated by the fact that you are alive after all this time—after all this time of defending that exact same point in every debate amongst the Mantis crew—but connecting with you felt different and eerie. BD-1 inched closer to his owner, his scanners picking up Cal’s stress levels and his increased heart rate. A single chirp caught the boy’s attention.

“It’s [Y/N], BD, but…”

“Bee…?”

“I have a bad feeling about her,”

The droid was in disbelief, BD never imagined—not even his processors and circuit board—that Cal would say that about you! He sent out a whole string of trills, questions that Cal couldn’t translate one at a time. He eased his little droid companion, gently gesturing at him to calm down.

“I think we need to tell this to Cere,”

The most concrete proof he could ever get a hold of was a connection from you through the Force. He questioned himself if Cere would believe him, considering she is the closest he can come to in terms of the ways of the Force.

Cal comes rushing back to the Mantis.

“Cere!” he started to call repeatedly when he was only a few meters away until he got into the ship.

The boy was a huffing and puffing mess when he threw himself into the ship, startling everyone and inadvertently interrupting their individual pastimes.

“Cal? What happened?” Cere had to lower her leather journal away from her face just to check on the boy.

“Are you alright?”

“Slow down, kid! It’s not like we’re leaving without you all of a sudden!”

“That’s not it!” he panted. He then turned to the older woman. “Cere, didn’t Cordova write something about having two Force-sensitive beings connecting or communicating through the Force?”

The more Cal rambled on with his queries, Cere had to put her book down on the lounge table to listen to the redheaded youngster. She knows he’s onto something—his excitement is just making slightly incoherent. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the boy is unconsciously unfurling new discoveries with the ways of the Force.

“Well, I just connected with [Y/N]!”

Greez cuts in as politely as he can. “Wai—Wait, how did you know it was [Y/N]? Moreover, what do you mean by ‘connect’?”

“Her voice!” he then remembers the eerie feeling that he put him off during the trance. “But… something doesn’t feel right.”

“About what? About [Y/N]?” Merrin joins in on the subject, curious and intrigued about your well-being, pausing from her tending of the terrarium and stepping down to the lounge table.

“So is it really her or just some random voice you heard that sounds just like her? My poor brain inside this gray head of mine can’t really grasp all of your Force mumbo-jumbo.”

“Cal, you don’t think—?”

Cal immediately refuses Cere’s theory without even letting her finish.

“No!” he bolts. “It can’t be. It’s impossible!”

“Cal, we can’t say for sure. But if you do have a bad feeling about it, then you best be prepared for what you’re about to see when she comes to you.”

There was a foreboding tone in Cere’s voice, consciously warning the boy of what’s to come. In his mind, Cal battled with himself and his inhibitions.

 _It’s not fair!_ In his mind, he whined like a child, on the verge of sobbing.

In what ought to be roughly a month and few weeks since you disappeared in Ulfin, his ecstasy in knowing that you truly _are_ alive is instantly overridden by the fear that he cannot pinpoint yet—more like, he cannot accept yet should it be realized.

Coming out of hyperspace brought you to half a parsec away from Jeddah. In the nav, you can see the designated planet outlined in green amidst the others drawn in blue, blending in with the screen’s dark blue background.

You eased down to the regular flying speed as you close the distance between you and Jeddah. While the TIE Fighter cruises through space, passing by the neighboring planets, you cannot help but feel… bothered. Earlier, before you went to hyperspace, you were quite startled with how you behaved—you have _never_ acted like this before. This was your very first solo campaign, as well.

Could it be excitement? For what, exactly? For doing something you want all alone—exactly how you want it? Perhaps.

Uncertainty? Because within the recesses of your being, the old you still lives albeit imprisoned?

“Enough!” you roared, leaning too hard and too fast to accidentally hit the back of your head. “Aaargh! Ow…”

You finally calmed down, for real this time, and your attention from the pain rippling across the back of your skull shifted to the repetitive bleeping of the nav computer. You leaned closer to the dashboard, peering on the screen; the radar indicates that you’re approaching the planet’s orbit. You buckle up and prepare the first phase of atmospheric entry.

Your arms flew in all directions, flicking switches and pressing buttons all over the ship—setting up the shields, applying the right amount of pressure on the steering wheel to counter the gravity, and finding the optimum speed. You close in on the bright, sunshine-gold sheen of Jeddah’s atmosphere.

The leather sank as you lean back, the turbulence made the ship rattle under your feet—the shields are doing its job to keeping the shaking to a minimum—and the TIE Fighter tore through the skies easily.

“Well, that turned out more effortlessly than I expected,” you sighed. “Now, to find you, Cal.”

The same feeling you had when you were still out in space returned, only this time, much louder and more prominent. There wasn’t a doubt that you’ve come to the right place; the connection has staled over time, perhaps Cal has given up in trying. The TIE Fighter circles in the skies in search for a specific city atop a mesa, at least a common signal belonging to it.

Along Cal’s trek, he spots _your_ TIE Fighter—in perfect coincidence—zooming through Jeddah’s sky as a growing black speck. He squints his eyes and shades them with his hand over his brows.

“That can’t be good.”

“If this thing could hold a droid, things would’ve been much easier!” you grumbled as you manually optimized the transmitter. You sighed when no blips popped on the radar. “Might as well find someplace to land.”

At first, the ripple of the Force—barely a whisper again, drowned by the engine hum of the TIE—ran in the back of your mind. Unconsciously feeling it, you’re practically welcoming it; Cal gets the exact same feeling as he watches your TIE Fighter circle the horizon, curious what this lone fighter could be doing in some place as desolate as Jeddah.

He senses the familiarity from the TIE Figher’s pilot, of all people, and little by little he starts to think that it’s not impossible.


	11. When Forked Paths Cross

The TIE Fighter sits on the western ridge.

The transmitter is set to its maximum range of reception, in case you pick up something interesting; at the edge of the ridge, the lone city intrigued you a lot and you have the strongest feeling that Cal may or may not have been there a time or two.

Putting your new helmet to the test, your fingers search for a particular button. When you found it, the visor’s scanners zoomed in and a reticle bounces back and forth within the narrow frame, leaving a piece of information whether in writing or in images before ricocheting to the next corner.

So far, you’ve seen most of what you saw in your vision—the barren wasteland, the lone city. However, the statues you saw were nowhere in sight… yet. You hummed while reviewing the data flashed on the surface of your visor. To the ordinary eye, it may be just another stretch of mountains, but you heeded to your feelings. Your eagle eye caught something else.

“Hell-o,” you cooed in a curious, singsong tone. One press of the button and the jittery reticle visits your visor again. “What do we have here?”

At the end of the mountain range, a pair of boulders peek out of the rim, though these particular boulders seem to be a little too symmetrical and clearly round for it to be any ordinary rocks. Squinting your eyes, you had a feeling something was up, and decided to explore it.

Not even the Inquisitorius killed off your curiosity.

“Okay, let’s tick statues off the checklist,” you mused to yourself.

Your eyes wandered, searching for an optimum landing spot. When you pictured that one exact spot in front of the statues--or their feet at least—you took five paces back to give yourself momentum. One big breath to calm down the nerves in your shivering legs, you clench your fists hard until the skin over your knuckles have turned white. The balls of your feet propelled you, kicking up the dust as you bolted through, and just at the very split second—when your toes barely sat on the edge of the cliff—you sprang away from the rock and plummeted down.

The two hundred feet felt only like two the moment you landed. Light as a feather, the sand wafted just at the height of your ankles. You erected from your crouched position and faced the entrance—nothing much than a portal of darkness that leads to who-knows-what. The mouth of the cave was seething with so much of the Force that it’s overwhelming, not just for you, but perhaps for any Force-sensitive.

“It’s a temple…” you gasped.

You held your head high up to take a good long look of the statues, the unmoving and unwavering guards, perhaps a millennia old.

Taking the first steps into this grand structure, a wave of calm washed over you—it didn’t give you peace though, it only made you feel more suspicious and a bit spooked about this place. Little did you know that it was the Light Side if this temple—long dormant and untouched until you came along—and the Dark Side in your clashing against one another. You begin to explore the temple; finding yourself in what ought to be a lobby or foyer of sorts, you stopped in your tracks at the very center of it and attempt to concentrate.

You feel like you’re not alone in here…

Because Cal is in here too.

* * *

“Bee…?”

“I don’t know, BD, it’s a strange feeling—familiar but eerie,” Cal thought aloud. Surveying the high ceilings of the temple, adorned with a strip of ancient runes much like most Jedi temples. “I don’t think we’re alone here.”

“Triiiil!”

Cal chuckled, “Haha! No, not ghosts, little guy. Another person, maybe, or an animal. But not ghosts, they don’t exist.”

The boy’s smile melted, his anxiety and uneasiness returned. The farther he goes in, the more he uncovers. Limestone parapets meld together with the stone of the caves—it reminded him of the inner chambers of the Zeffo tomb—and the rustic chimes of all shapes and sizes dangle at the slightest draft.

“Sure is spooky in here, though,”

BD-1 cooed a soft, almost-quiet chirp in agreement, folding his legs in as he hides behind Cal’s shoulder. Not even his own flashlight could torch the way ahead. The boy and the boy have comes to what ought to be an open antechamber, the features reminded Cal of the gardens in the temple in Coruscant—except this one is smaller, possibly twice the size of the entrance at the Vault in Bogano.

The extravagance astonished the boy, BD-1 showed the same sentiments in the way he knows best—hop down from Cal’s shoulder, scamper left and right, forward and back to scan every imaginable thing present in the room.

“Don’t wander too far, BD!” called the young Jedi.

Cal follows BD’s general direction, all while gawking at the design of this hollow, ancient chamber. Despite his great fascination at the beauty of the ruins, the looming uneasiness that he’s been feeling all day finally took hold of him.

And it took form in the shape of you.

At the insidious roar of a saber’s ignition, a bloody red glow illuminated the shadows and highlighted your silhouette. The shadowy sight frightened the poor, tiny droid, leading him to skitter back to Cal for safety. You step into the light, out into the antechamber, holding your saber low—the tip hovering beside your ankle—a menacing stride carried you forward to your now-enemy.

“Figured I’d find you here,”

The distortion in your voice, thanks to the helmet, made for an excellent guise. The storm inside Cal’s heart aroused you. You smiled beneath the mask, satisfied. It’s hard to deny that you truly missed him, but seeing his face reminded you of the things that your brother and sisters fed you—lies born from poisonous clairvoyance, until those said lies became the truth in your mind, and it is what you have accepted as reality.

The faint, fluttering feeling that used to exist in your stomach—all from missing him so—was replaced with an aching rage in your heart; because in your eyes, all you could see of him is the corrupted truth. Your grip around your saber tightened so hard that the metal sleeve was almost crumpled.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,”

You chuckled sinisterly, though amused, it seems that his roguishness didn’t die off from his depression of grieving for you.

“Oh?” you bobbed your head. “Then why don’t you get to know me?”

You brandished your saber horizontally, at the press of a well-hidden button, the half of the halo became a whole and along with it a second blade emitting out of the other end. Cal ignited his own, his own response to taking on the challenge. You softly chuckled and made the first move—lunging towards him like a dart, saber over your head. Landing on his block felt off and different—it was sloppy, loose, and less lively. You sensed the weakness of his body reflecting on the strength of his deflect.

At this point, you’re still quite generous. You voluntarily pulled away to let him reset his stance—also for you to quickly scrutinize his disposition. Your eyes examined his entire person: flimsy grip, poor footwork, and a weak core. You squint with suspicion.

_Hmm, something’s up with him._

Cal remains at the mercy of the new Inquisitor: as lethal as a dagger, fast as lightning, and quick-witted. Her speed was almost impossible to keep up with.

He blocks and deflects your every strike, but barely affords a moment to counterattack. For every landed block, you felt how feeble his handling was, almost as if he’s crippled in the arm. You exploited that weakness and sent out a hail of slashes in his way, when Cal finally manages to lunge forward, you denied him an opportunity—darting to the far side of the space and attacking him from behind, similar to what you did to the Inquisitors weeks ago in your initiation duel.

The boy blocks it in the last minutes and then dodge-rolls to the side. He tries to stiffen himself up, but you sense that this is a façade he’s trying so hard to maintain. You can practically see right through his bluff.

“Seems like you’ve lost your touch, Jedi,”

“That’s perceptive of you,”

“Thank you,” you squeaked. “I get that a lot!”

Again, you thrusted yourself towards the boy. He’s slowly catching on in terms of strength. Looks like his focus has gotten back to him. After an intense exchange of blades, you flipped away from the clash and literally swept him off his feet with a single kick. His body met the floor, but quickly scrambled back on his feet; making him feel like he had no chance of the upper hand infuriated him, and this reflected in the way he moves with the saber. His technique was easily countered with a dash of elusive acrobatics mixed in with your own fighting style. You can sense the growing anger and the hate in him, though it’s no surprise that he’d succumb to it.

“You mistake your rage with sadness!” you snarled and then continued. “That anger, hate, and suffering. You don’t use them at all. Pity.” You scoffed as your blades are locked together.

A kick to the abdomen staggered him away from you, another brief moment to recompose himself. You spun your saber, the swordpoint facing Cal a few inches away.

“You know, you were never really good in hiding your feelings.”

And at the moment, Cal’s heart skipped a beat. Surely, this was a taunt most Inquisitors do to Jedi to catch them off guard, right? But no, there’s something else lingering in that Inquisitor’s words. Cal could barely breathe when he was beginning to become familiar with his opponent’s voice and the answer was whispering itself in his ears—though he refused. He tightened his grip around the sleeve.

The uncertainty from the boy reached you, another emotion to exploit within your grasp. It was almost a guilty pleasure taunting him; the climax being his melting point. You decided to while away the time bantering instead of fighting, which proved to be more entertaining—at least, for you.

“Don’t talk like you know me!”

“Oh, I’d bet my entire fleet for that,” you sniggered.

“Who are you, really?”

There was a pause. You tilted your head pensively.

“Oh, they call me the Twelfth Sister, but…” with a push of a button on your helmet, the front plate that masks your face retracts into its frame. You greet him with a malicious grin. “I guess you can call me [Y/N].”

Cal felt his strength ebbing, whatever life essence residing in his body has now departed, the saber fell from his hand—the clattering filled the entire antechamber until the only noise filling the place was his rapid, shallow breathing. He could feel his heart about to fail and he’ll just drop dead.

“No…!” he gasped.

You were ironically thankful to see the look on his face with your own eyes, without the visor. O, that multi-million credit expression was simply divine! So divine, in fact, that your grin stretched wider than an Acklay’s jaws.

“No, no…” he panted, until the whining evolved into a bellow. “NO, NO!!! It can’t be true! You’re not real! I’m just in a-a-a… dream! Or a trance! Or something!”

You scoffed, “Is it so hard to believe, Cal?”

“It can’t be… [Y/N]…”

“You abandoned me, Cal, and in turn, they found me. Made me stronger… much stronger. Enough to make you atone!”

“But I didn’t abandon you! I was about to come and get you!”

“LIAR! Because if you were, you would’ve taken me out of the rubble soon.”

“But I looked for you… I looked everywhere for you. I even waited when they were telling me to leave.”

You shake your head solemnly, “That’s not the way I see it.”

“Who told you all these things?”

“Does it matter?!” you raise your voice and readied your sword arm. “I’m going to make you pay anyway!”

Your frenzy overwhelmed Cal, indeed, but he was able to regain his bearings in the split second you darted through the wind in his direction. Another exchange of blades, only this time, oozing with a wildness borne of rage and hate—regardless if the root was corrupted and false. It is what the Grand Inquisitor would have designed in the first place. It’s what he would’ve wanted.

“[Y/N]…!” Cal pleaded in the middle of attacking. “[Y/N], please, listen to me!”

“I’m done listening to anyone!! All I could ever hear are lies!”

Cal made a quick scan of the area and spotted two balconies connected by a bridge overhead. He withdrew from the fight, hopped from one parapet to another until his feet were planted on the limestone. Of course, you didn’t want to be outclassed by the Jedi—you practically wall-ran until you’re at the highest of highs, propelled yourself off your feet, somersaulting in the air and landed in a graceful cat-like crouch.

“[Y/N], look, I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Sweet of you, honey, but you’re gonna have to come with me!”

It has become a battle of balance, dexterity, and strength. The bridge was just as wide as the walkway of a Star Destroyer’s hyperdrive pillar. The flurry of saber attacks remained frenzied and intense, the red gleam of your saber highlighted Cal’s freckled yet sullen face as you bore your weight down on his blocking, shining over the gloss of his teeth, and mingling with his jade irises encircled by dark rings. Ignorant of the imperfections brought upon by grief, you looked past them and still see the Cal you clearly remember in your memories.

“Oh, how I missed that handsome face,” you cooed.

That took him off guard, but only for a short while, he pressed him in closer to you which gave him enough momentum to pull away and take you by surprise—pushing you to the farther end of the bridge with the Force, causing you to stumble and land on your back and into this smaller chamber.

“I said, I don’t want to hurt you!”

When he saw that you were inside the smaller chamber on the other end, he focused the Force on the middle of the bridge—practically breaking off a large piece of the walkway like some crumb of bread—and sent it flying to the open archway of the chamber! That wasn’t enough though, he looked for every conceivable object within his reach to block your way, though he knew that you can easily break through it, doing so would buy him enough time to escape.

The next thing he used to block of the archway was the spherical chandelier, large enough to fortify the chunk of the bridge he initially put there. He could feel the resistance from the other side, you were doing the same thing he’s doing except to push your way out; but he persisted and focused harder on the blockage. Finally, that large “crumb” of the bridge was lodged harder into the archway, locking it in place before the chandelier.

Cal felt sure that he’s closed you in, but he’s perfectly aware that you won’t stay there for long.

“Come on, BD!”

“Woooo!!”

He ran, although in no particular direction, he simply ran away.

Air filled his lungs for every step he took. He just couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed.

He’ll have a difficult time accepting this new reality. As a matter of fact, he _will never_ accept this reality.


	12. Grave Revelation

Cal ran as fast as his legs can carry him until he got to a significant distance away from the bridge.

His next problem was finding his way back to the Mantis, but that’s besides the point. He took shelter in an extension of the temple, to catch his breath, but eventually the toll takes on his body. All of the sudden, the exact wave of emotions when he saw you came back to him. He still couldn’t believe it, he simply can’t, not after believing for so long that you were alive.

Pressing his back against the cold, stone walls, he slides down and reduces into a curled up ball; not even covering his eyes with his hands stopped the tears from overflowing. They spilled through the spaces between his fingers, the edges of his palms, and trickled down on his forearms. His heart ached as he sobbed. Of all things, why did  _ this _ had to happen to him? And of all people to deliver him the worst of news, why did it have to be  _ you _ ?

“I can’t believe it…” he sobbed, his breath shuddering as he exhaled.

“Bee… Bee, trill, chirp!” BD-1 urged the boy to stand up and find their way out before you find them.

Cal sniffled and struggled to bring himself up to his feet. This was much worse a battle than the duel that he just had with you.

“You’re right, BD,” he concurred. “Come on…”

The boy was awfully quiet during their trek out of the temple cave. If BD chirped, he’d be received with silence, or perhaps the closest the bot can come to a reply is an out-of-the-moment “Huh?” and a weak, indifferent hum. Eventually, he gave up until they found their way out.

End of the road for Cal and BD-1.

Both of them peer on the drop at the edge of Cal’s boots. The sunlight pierced through the cracks on the cave’s walls and ceiling, revealing a body of water. The redhead youngster wagered it would be twenty feet between the rock he’s standing on and the water. He took a deep breath and dived in.

A literal splash of cold water all over him and he’s still having it rough in accepting what you have become. He swam forward, until he could find dry land; when he did, he climbed up and shook off the water from his clothes and boots.

“Cere, do you read?”

“Cal, I read. What’s going on? Are you still in the temple?”

“Yeah, I am, but I’m trying to find another way out.”

“What’s happened?”

“Uh… Um, there was a… a cave in.”

“Are you alright?”

Cere won’t take Cal’s simple “Yeah” for an answer. Even from that single word, she heard how unusually warbly he sounded, his own voice betrayed him and she wanted in on it as to why he sounds odd--but of course, she won’t force the boy. The conversation abruptly ended from Cal’s line as he continued on to find his way out of the cave.

“I think there’s our light at the end of the tunnel,”

His exit was one of many from that temple cave. A different exit could’ve led to another place. In Cal’s case, he ended up in the south end of the mesa; a narrow ridge, wide enough for any species except a Hutt to tread on, wrapped around the wall. Cal hugs the wall, facing the open space, with his arms splayed and pressed against the hot rock baked by the sun, then shimmied until he could find a wider path.

Cal has already come around the corner, he can already spot the city and the Mantis—the dorsal fin poking out of the mesa—so he continued to shimmy the ridge until he could find someplace to safely land. Not long after, he reaches a rockwall where he can make the rocks sticking out of it as handholds. He struggled to scale it, as the heaviness of his body was making it harder for him; despite coming out of the duel unscathed, the manifestations in his mind was affecting his body. He exerted more effort, he worked up a sweat in climbing the remaining height and the Mantis was a sight for his puffy, sore eyes.

“There’s the Mantis!”

The boy comes sprinting towards the vessel, hot air filling his lungs, warming his throat, and the sweltering humidity pelting his skin. He’d love a shower when he gets there.

The entry ramp unfurled when its censors spotted him, he didn’t wait for it to completely fold out, he jumped in the first second he could plant his feet on the ramp. This is the second time he eagerly barged into the Mantis, surprising everyone—except for Cere, who was already expecting an explanation from the young Jedi Knight.

“There’s something you all need to know,”

The entire crew clustered around Cere and Cal. The older female Jedi hardened herself, a way of preparing herself for what she’s about to hear, and she inhaled deeply when Cal opened his mouth.

“[Y/N] is alive… and she’s an Inquisitor now!”

Much like Cal the first time, the Mantis crew couldn’t believe it. BD-1 got Cal’s back when he flashed a data scan of you in the middle of your duel when you were unaware of the little droid. That is when the crew finally took Cal’s word for it. Cere stared at the holographic image of you long and hard, she questions if her eyes are playing a trick on her… but no, they aren’t. It really is you.

Examining your image more intently, she notices the changes in your face even though they were subtle. The shadows under your eyes and the redness along its rims, she asks BD to enlarge the image, when the droid obliged she spotted bruises on your neck and jugular. All of her findings suggest the exact same theory in her head: torture.

“Cal, did you notice that she had bruises and small wounds on her neck and face?”

“W-Well… Not really. I was still kinda overwhelmed back there when I saw her again,” said the boy quite somberly.

“Hmm,” the older woman hummed. “Because there are typical wounds you’d get when you’re kept in an Imperial torture chair. I had the same wounds, except [Y/N]’s are more prominent. It could only mean they’d kept her there longer than they usually would to a prisoner, especially if it were Jedi.”

The thought of you strapped into the torture chair for a much longer period of time pained Cal more. He could only imagine the agonizing screams and cries that would have escaped your throat for every time they pulled the switch to turn the current on. Suddenly, he felt woozy and his footing failed; Merrin and Cere caught him in time.

“Your poor thing, you need to rest,” uttered Merrin.

“Yeah, I… I just need to clean myself up and some time alone.”

He politely shook himself off of the ladies’ collective hold of him and headed for the bath. The water rained on his head and then trickled all over his entire body, bringing the sandy gunk along into the drain; the shower felt like a prison cell, theres’ a gloomy peace in this glass box, but ironically so, that’s what he exactly needed to think it all through.

Cal gently thumped his head against the wall, still letting the water run on him while doing bare minimum scrubbing—droplets fall from his strong jaw, the tip of his nose and lips, he’d blink away the water that clung on his eyelashes. He closes his eyes until the hissy sound of the running water had dulled in his earshot.

How he had wished he would have snuck a single grab of your saber, your hand, or your cheek just to see what you’ve been through. He’d willingly go through the nightmares that reside in your head, playing in every waking second which fueled your anger and hate. Then the words struck his mind.

_ “You abandoned me, Cal!” _

“That sounded like an accusation,” he pondered. His nails cracked as he scratched the glass wall. “But you don’t really mean that, do you?”

Eventually, the tears mixed in with the shower’s water that it’s hard to tell. But Cal’s shoulders shook and then relaxed as he begins to weep again.

“I missed you so much… if only I could’ve told you that, to let you know. Even if it didn’t make you turn back, to come back to me. I just wanted to make sure you don’t forget...”

Even through the fogged glass, BD-1 can see Cal’s silhouette succumbing to the floor and curling up, he can hear the boy sobbing and incoherent muttering altogether. There’s nothing much the little one can do, as well, except to sit by and trill sad chirps. 

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the temple cave, you didn’t waste your energy in trying to dislodge the boulder in the archway. Like Cal’s exit, you had your own where you stood. You followed the path and led to a tunnel; you’re let out to what ought to be a canyon, though you have no idea where you exactly are.

Referring to your gauntlet, the small screen indicated the signature of your TIE Fighter on the map grid. From where you stand, it’s almost a seven-mile trek and you’re thirsty and hungry. Luckily, your TIE had a function that allows you to “hail” it and let it come to you even without a pilot.

“Maybe a sightseeing trip wouldn’t hurt my objective,” you mused.

Your TIE Fighter comes flying over the canyons until it converged to your signal. 

The ship hovered over your head, sending the coattails of your armor's top flapping like wild in the thrusters' hot wind. You didn't mind, you simply hopped into the cockpit and flew to the nearby Imperial garrison. As the distance shrinks, you ponder if you'll have any luck in this endeavor.

The Imperial scanners have picked up the signature of your ship.

"This is TIE Fighter TZX-2527, requesting permission to dock,"

From the other end, the operators recognize your voice. One of them previewed the flat image of your ship on their screen and turned their heads to the deck commander.

"Sir, this is an Inquisitor's TIE Fighter!"

A sudden chill pelted his arms despite wearing a full-bodied uniform. He gulped the nervous lump lodged in the center of his throat many time before he could swallow smoothly again. He turned to the cadet manning the computers who previewed your TIE Fighter and gave him the go signal to let you through.

"Your ship's been verified, Inquisitor, you may begin your landing phase in Bay 5."

"Excellent. I'll be on my way,"

The transmission ends and you make your way to the Imperial docking bay, you promptly prepped your TIE into its landing cycle and daintily put it on the ground. A pair of Stormtroopers escorted you into the main hold of the fortification. After a ten-minute walk from the landing bay to the command hall, you meet the person in charge peering at the dusty nothingness through the window.

He was an aging man—the lines drawn over his face proved that he had served before the Empire, his lowered brow gave off a permanent scowl over a pair of tired, old eyes. He turns around as he hears the door open.

"Inquisitor," he greets with a curt bow, he doesn't turn away from you.

"Captain Foros," you greet, though the coldness in your tone overpowers the politeness. "I should thank you for letting me stay here."

"Aye, no one would want to stay out there, where it's wretchedly sweltering,"

You joined his side, standing in front of the same window where he observes the land, it later dawned on him that you're so young—and yet you carried yourself in a mature regard in your stride and posture.

Slowly turning your head from the window to his face, you smile at his comment—regardless if he doesn't see it.

"I'm pleased we have something to agree on,"

Getting past the niceties and icebreakers, a minute lapsed before you began asking him. He walked with you to the holotable in the center of the room.

"Has there been any word about a Jedi running around in this planet?"

"As a matter of fact, Inquisitor, we have been receiving relayed reports in the neighboring town northwest of here. That's Sector J8 in the grid."

"I see," you hummed, intrigued. "What kind of reports have you been hearing from the northwestern town?"

The old captain sighed, preparing mental bullet list of Cal's activities in the main town of Jeddah; there's too much to mention and elaborate in detail, so he pressed a button on the holotable to present a series of surveillance images taken in different areas of the town. 

Your eyes wandered from one frame to another. All of the cameras captured a clear picture of the boy—whether he idled in crowded public areas, running, or swinging his saber at Stormtroopers.

_ Yep, that's him. _ You tell yourself.

"Well, it started out with sightings which eventually caused some suspicion. When the troops close in on him, he tends to leave a trail of their bodies in his wake, and then he'll bolt away until he's out of sight!"

"Ahh," you purred, smiling again with satisfaction underneath that mask. "Yes. I know  _ this _ particular Jedi."

You suddenly turned quiet. Captain Foros turned to you, confused after detecting the rather amused tone in your voice, despite the mood of the situation that he just narrated. He angled his head with a thoughtful expression as he tried to read you.

There was something else that you sense about that town. You stand still in front of the holotable, concentrating everything on that town, there was an unspeakable urge within you that prompted you to march back to the window and peer at the quiet, unbothered town.

Looks like your to-do list just got longer.

"Captain?"

He stiffens upon the call of his rank.

"I'm going to need a speeder. I think I'll give the quaint town a little field visit."

"Right away, Inquisitor!"

Two snaps of his finger prompted an officer to scramble from his post and march towards him. He sternly gave the order to prepare an elite-type speeder bike for you. He obediently responded, saluted to the captain before turning away to proceed with the given task. Within half an hour, you were escorted by one of the officers to the hangar where your speeder is waiting.

You hopped on and revved up the engine. The bike sped out of the docking bay, with your eyes set out of that town.


	13. See Through The Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for the slow progress. I'm really struggling without my laptop and most of my gadgets don't format very well the way I want it to be, hence ruining the template or flow that eventually became my trademark for writing and publishing. I hope I'm able to save up enough money, since my company is taking back the "quarantine paycheck" they gave us and they're subtracting it to my regular paycheck, it's really difficult to get by. I hope you guys understand. I don't plan on going inactive. That will be the last thing I will ever do if things seem very bleak. For now, I'm still alive and kicking. And I will make more stories for everyone to enjoy! :D <3

It has been hours since Cal encountered you. He’s in the Mantis recovering, and still wrapping his head around everything. In fact, his mind is still in a jumble after your reunion of a duel.

He can’t meditate for long periods of time, he constantly tosses and turns in bed when he decides to rest, and he religiously reads your profile as an Inquisitor on BD-1’s databank.

“Twelfth Sister, huh?” Cal mumbled behind his clasped hands over his lips.

He intently stares at the written portion of your profile.

He pondered out loud, “I don’t even wanna think about how long they’ve kept her there until they broke her, or how long she’s been doing missions until she’s completely desensitized like the rest.”

“Bee…” BD-1 chirped sadly.

Cal shakes his head, erasing such gruesome thoughts.

“No, she’s not like them. She’s still not fully gone yet. I know her…”

BD trills in reply, astonished just how cemented the boy’s resolve and optimism is.

“[Y/N] still has a choice, I hope she understands that,” he added.

A migraine abruptly jabs at Cal like a dagger to the stomach. Screams, explosions, and blaster fire echoed as an awful-sounding medley in his skull. It took him a few good moments before the sounds quietened. His little droid chirped worriedly as he watched Cal shudder and go woozy.

“I think the town’s in trouble, BD!”

BD knew what was up just from that simple outburst, he hopped on Cal’s shoulder before the boy could even stand up and scamper out of his room. He jumped over the set of stairs, slammed a button, and slipped through the entry door left ajar, disappearing from the Mantis; he didn’t run off right away, he waited for the exterior compartment door to open, revealing a compact speeder bike stored inside and sped away to the city.

He already knew the culprit, he only hoped that you haven’t done enough irreversible damage yet.

Contrary to Cal’s foresight, you haven’t wreaked havoc… yet.

Upon your arrival to the small city, you saw how sparse the Imperial security is.

You approached a Stormtrooper donning a red pauldron on his right shoulder, he straightened his posture as soon as he saw you.

“Are these all your men, Commander?”

“No, ma’am, they’re my patrol unit. I have more fanned out in different sectors. Should there be any problem, I’ll have reinforcements ready.”

“Good, because you should. The Jedi’s quite an elusive one,”

“If we spot him, we’ll deal with him,”

You nodded, impressed by this leader’s confidence. You inquired if there are any Purge Troopers dispatched in the city, you called for two of them to your position, they arrived within minutes.

“Two of you come with me,” you commanded with a steel voice. “If you find the Jedi, do not attempt to kill him. He’s mine for the taking.”

The three of you mounted on individual speeders, they followed you. Solely relying on instinct and feeling based on what you had back at the garrison, your party ended up in a small residential compound.

You’ve pinpointed the exact locations where that ripple in the Force is originating—from a house at the western side. However, your welcome wagon from the locals is rather cold. Anyone who can carry a gun held their ground, at the corner of your eye, you spot a little family of three: mother, father, and infant boy.

You knew right away the source.

The man saw through your faceless helmet, father’s intuition spiking up when he knew that exact intention of that ominous turn of your head to his son.

“You,” the ignition of the saber startled everyone, including the family; they held their ground, safety locks from all of the blasters clicked with the barrels aimed either at you or the Purge Troopers. Your men returned the gesture, but you signaled them to hold their fire. You lowered your saber to point at his son. “You know he has  _ it, _ don’t you?”

Apparently, not many were aware of what you’re talking about, but the parents knew all too well. Even he pointed his own blaster at you. This demonstrative warning didn’t intimidate you, not in the smallest bit, instead you received them with a sinister chuckle—which left them in a collective puzzlement.

In the slightest movement, someone did the first shot but you deflected it with a superhuman precision and speed—intentional or otherwise, they feared for their life as they’ve come to realize they made that mistake. And then in the next split second, they never saw you coming. A barrage of blaster fire came from all sides. A few Stormtroopers near the area got themselves involved when they heard the firefight. While they’re busy exchanging bullets, you went after the mother who ran away from the action; her husband didn’t stand a chance against you—incapacitating him by hammering his jaw with your saber’s pommel.

The apartment where the woman went into hiding was a maze, halls upon halls of doors, she thinks she’s outsmarted you. You stood still and felt for the child’s Force signature amongst the rooms. Its fussing echoed in your mind until you turned to the direction where you think it’s coming from. Your eyes shot open and you bolted through the narrow hallway, a single kick broke down the door—startling both mother and wailing child.

“Don’t make this any harder for me,” you snarled, pointing your saber at the trembling woman.

She didn’t cooperate. Her hand aimlessly wandered the floor in search of anything to throw at you. She threw a small statuette in your face but you casually dodged it—all too easy, but it vexed you that she did exactly what you didn’t want her to do. When she found herself helpless, she scrambled up to her feet and made a run for it—but you were faster. The chase led to a dead end, you snuck up behind her as she looks at the wall with sheer horror in her eyes.

“I told you to not make it harder for me, woman,” you hiss from behind, and gave her the same fate as her husband.

You broke her fall by catching her, along with the child whom you snatched from her arms, you returned to the scene of the action only to hear not a hail of projectiles but silence, the baby seems to be calmed down by it. You stopped where you stood, listening for a sign of fighting, but there was nothing. You prepared yourself for whatever you’re going to see. The residents are gone—probably scampered back to their homes—and your Purge Troopers had Cal preoccupied, his back was turned to you as he fought them off, a couple of Stormtroopers lay dead on the ground evidently Cal’s handiwork.

Cal spots you, the Purge Troopers withdraw from the fight when they read the room. The young Jedi immediately turned around to the direction where the enemies were looking at.

“Well now, two heroics in a row! That ought to be a new record, darling,”

“I know what you’re planning to do with that kid, [Y/N]!”

You nasally scoffed, “Trilla was right. You are uncharacteristically prescient!”

“Why don’t you come and face me! It’s me you want!”

“What a brilliant idea!” You gestured at one Purge Trooper to come and retrieve the child. You spotted Cal flinching as soon as the trooper’s hands touched the baby’s swaddle. Both you and the troopers were alerted and positioned in different stances.

“Ah-ah-ah!” you cautiously held your hand above the child’s face. “Don’t do anything that you’d regret, Cal! Believe me, I still have enough humanity to not kill a child in cold blood.  _ Do not convince me otherwise. _ ”

Cal stood down, giving in to your bluff, and forced himself to relax—despite having an Electrohammer Purge Trooper standing behind him with his held in an offensive stance. He watches the other Purge Trooper scoop the child off your arms, your lightsaber takes its place in your hands. Igniting both ends, you point the haloed sleeve in front of the Jedi.

“Let’s dance, darling!”

Finishing what you started, you locked blades with Cal once again. This time, your arena has gotten wider and more open. Cal had no time in apprehending the Purge Troopers with the child and escaped on their speeder bikes. He split his sabers and dual-wielded to match you, but it was useless, he didn’t even realize that you have gotten more skillful and stronger. He’d hate to admit that he was saved by sheer luck back at the temple.

He comes charging at you with an overhead strike, but both ends of your saber blocked left and right sabers altogether. Cal saw the whites of your knuckles as you put more pressure on your gripping arm, your boots barely skidded in the dust when his attack landed on your block, and you flashed him a cocky yet ominous smirk.

“You feel it, don’t you? My strength—it’s too great to bear, isn’t it?”

Although covered, Cal sees the prideful, malicious grin stretched across your face through that dark mask; he could’ve sworn he saw the glint in your eyes—they were sorrowful in expression masking it with rage until no one can mistake it for the other. He knew that you’re still human, unlike the others you call brothers and sisters.

“But you’re no better for what you are right now!”

Cal pushes you away with the Force, enough to put some space between you and himself. You then lobbed your saber at him, spinning like a fan, cutting the air in a clean semi-circle, and he deflected it—as expected—before catching it. You did it a second time, and again, he succeeded in deflecting it.

“Remember what Cere taught us: as long as we’re alive, we will  _ always _ have a choice!”

“Funny,” your hand snappily catches your saber. “I knew you were gonna say something like that!”

He cancels out the third time you’re about to fling your saber at him, and finally deals some damage—one of the few instances that he actually does—and gradually regained his momentum in the battle. The two of you have become so enamored in the fight that both of you didn’t notice you’ve moved to the back of the compound, away from the main square where the duel initiated.

In this smaller space, you two were completely alone. The intensity felt more intimate yet frightening. Cal saw how your eyes blazed with hatred and anger for him, albeit misplaced and corrupted within you.

“[Y/N], please listen to me: I didn’t abandon you. I swear it,” he calmly said, through the intertwining of your blades.

“Spare me, Cal, I—”

You notice his sleeve roll down, the glimmer of metal caught your eye. You recognize your bracelet worn around his wrist. For a brief second, your block loosened and he felt it.

“You… You kept it?”

“Always have,” Cal takes a deep breath. “And I’m sorry for this, [Y/N].”

Cal pulls the same trick he did on Trilla. In order to disarm you: he switched off his saber mid-block which, in turn, caught you off-guard for a second time—with the sight of the bracelet being the first, spontaneous one—and staggered you real hard. Before you could even react or resist, he inflicts Force Slow on you—and so your limbs felt heavy and hard like stone, it feels as though you’re being encased in wet plaster that’s drying off quickly. While the chance is ripe for the taking, he runs up to you and takes your hand. The wave of emotions thrashing in you like a wild ocean riptide was overwhelming, but he fought it and there’s literally nothing you can do about it.

And that’s where he saw every, single thing.

Fed with lies. Trained with hate. Survived by agony.

Cal’s Force Echo on yourself was painless but it made you a tad bit nauseated. You could feel your very life essence being forcibly siphoned out of your body, at the same time, your memories and feelings transfer to Cal—as if he was the one experiencing them firsthand.

The prickle of electric current on his skin made his nerves jerk, enough to prompt his muscles to let go; the great exhaustion that your body endured burdened itself on Cal’s chest—making him feel out of breath—then the deafening clash of weapons, the battle grunts, and all the taunts meant to torment your mind: all of those Cal endured, through the trance of the Force Echo.

You fight the tears from escaping your eyes, but he didn’t, he let them trickle on his cheeks; withstanding the pain took more willpower than matching your strength in the swordfight.

“Oh [Y/N]... what have they done to you?” he gasped.

“They… made me stronger!” you struggled to speak while under the influence of the Force Slow.

Cal shakes his head, tightening his grip around your hand, “No, that isn’t strength. This isn’t you.”

The gentleness in his voice vexed you and touched at the same time. More emotions pile on top of the other as they conflict in you, the confusion was mind-numbing.

“You just don’t want to admit it, because you’re afraid,” he added.

You’re on the verge of tears, because even if you don’t want to admit it, he’s somewhat right and you hate how right he always is.

“I am not afraid!” you hiccuped, nearly sobbing. “I don’t have to be afraid of the Inquisitors, you, or anything!”

You finally broke free from the hold of the Slow, you violently shook off Cal’s hand from yours, and popped a flashbomb to escape. When the smoke had cleared, Cal found himself alone in that small backside of the compound. More Stormtroopers flooding into that space gave him company, completely surrounding him; just when they thought they had the upper hand, their mistake of underestimating them became their undoing, the Jedi made quick work and felled them all, clearing the path for himself back to the Mantis while you hopped on another speeder and fled out of the city to return to the garrison.


	14. Still Have A Choice

The throttle of the speeder bike parts the sand across the reddish-brown, arid expanse. Nothing but the noise of the motors roared across the wilderness and the whistling howl of the wind that burned your cheeks as you sped through. Feeling Cal's Force Echo on you felt nauseating yet intoxicating, you wanted more—not because of the essence of his ability, but of his touch—even in that stone-cold exterior you have carved out for yourself, you cannot deny that you yearned for the human touch that is inherently absent in the Inquisitorius.

Whether you like it or not: the real you still exists, bottling it all up just became five times harder after you encountered Cal—since the incident at the old Jedi Temple in the outskirts of Jeddah. You bite your lip to fight the tears, unconsciously spiking the speed of your bike forward, and all at once the sensation of his hand rubbed itself around yours—the faltering and abrupt jerk of the vehicle brought you out of your zoned-out state.

In the stillness of the surroundings, you afforded a moment to remove your helmet and catch your breath. You allow one tear to fall, only to wipe it right away with one gloved hand.

"Good thing I'm in the middle of nowhere or this would be  _ really  _ embarrassing!" You exhaled.

The engine growls back into life, you pick up the speed and head straight for the garrison.

By the time you've arrived to the base, the same Purge Troopers showed up sans the child. When asked, their answer was they've already went ahead and secured the baby in the medical bay—given that it's the only appropriate place in the entire garrison to keep it. They tell you the floor of the particular med-bay. 

"Thank you, return to your post."

They bowed and turned their back on you. One of the Purge Troopers was foolish enough to lean in and whisper a comment to the other.

"Too polite for an Inquisitor, for my taste, at least,"

"You always notice the little, petty things,"

You ignored the words and proceeded to the said medical bay. The entire room is manned by medical droids of different variants—surgical, general medicine, and drone types. The closest qualifier to looking after the child is the GH-7 medical droid—basically, the all-around in terms of medical specializations.

A deadpan remark forms in your lips, "At least, you won't have that kid crying in your face every time you check on it."

Unable to detect the sarcasm, the droid plainly asks why. You didn't humor it for an answer.

"Nevermind." You sigh and roll your eyes with resignation.

You shifted your attention to the child who was settled in a makeshift bassinet, you couldn't figure out what the crib was before it was turned into a hovering, spherical pod that fits an infant, though it's of no importance. You ordered the child to be fed, cleaned, checked for vitals, and be given medicine and supplements if necessary. The droid obediently took note of all your orders before you retired to your own room.

Out of courtesy, some officers and cadets tipped the brims of their caps at you, accompanied by the utterance of your title—to which you responded with a curt, slow bow.

Finally, you've encased yourself in the solace of your quarters. The sensation of your body sinking into the mattress gave you a sense of comfort and relief, removing your gloves felt liberating; you shake your fingers to wring off the chafing and feel the skin against your fingertips again. A sigh escapes your lungs, you find yourself rubbing the hand that Cal had touched and inflicted his Psychometry—his grip was tight, but gentle so it doesn't hurt you, even in that intense interlock of your lightsabers.

You stand up from your bed so you seat yourself in the center of the room, you cross your legs together and straighten your back. Eyelids dropped and shrouded your vision in darkness, you recall the teachings the Inquisitors have beaten into your head, but something else is clawing for your attention—Cal. No matter how many times you decline it in your head, it just becomes more persistent by the minute, the influence of the Force Echo still ran fresh in your system.

Then his words came flooding into your mind, echoing and trailing off like a hollow gong.

_ “What have they done to you?” _

_ “This isn’t you…” _

“Enough…” you sobbed.

You curl into a ball, raking your scalp as you bury your face into your knees, resisting from succumbing into this haunting episode. You reply to the voices with great refusal and denial.

_ “It’s because you’re afraid…” _

“STOP!” you cry out, alone in your room. After your outburst, you realize that you might have alerted some patrolling guards; you sit still, expecting a polite knock followed by a “Are you alright?”, none of them came—much to your relief. Although, Cal’s voice and words persists; you didn’t really notice until now that his voice and the collective voice of the Inquisitors constantly thrashed at each other like predators against one another.

“I didn’t abandon you. I looked for you…”

This is perhaps what prevailed the whole time. Cal’s tiny spark of hope in those words shone its way through the cold of your armor. You couldn’t help but feel betrayed by your brothers and sisters, they who groomed you into a killing machine with a red blade like them, and constantly gaslighted you into thinking that you were abandoned—by your friends and ultimately, by Cal—and that you owe your life to them , the Inquisitors.

“He… looked for me? He wanted to find me?” you mumble under your breath, clutching your chest as your heart calmed down. 

You’re reminded of your bracelet that he wore around his wrist. You could only wonder how many time he looked at it, touched it with and without Psychometry, and just simply remembered you.

“He kept it, too…”

Your heart ached, and eventually so, you melted to the floor and reduced into a sobbing mess—all these feelings fighting in your mind, unsure which one to feel.

Anger? Yes, but for whom this time?

Sadness? For Cal and the life you’ve lost, most certainly.

Hope? Bleak but possible.

_ “You still have a choice…” _

“Twelfth Sister?” the voice in your head trailed off the moment your gauntlet comms bleeped.

You jumped, startled by the sound. You recomposed yourself and cleared your throat prior to answering.

“We require your assistance in the war room.”

“Of course, Captain, I’ll be on my way.”

* * *

Cal is exactly in the same predicament as you in the confines of his cramped room.

A while ago, he had picked up your outburst in the middle of his own meditation. He wondered what had slipped into your mind to put you in such an overwhelming mental state. All he could feel was sadness, his free hand trailed to the cord around his wrist and ran his thumb against the tarnished metal pendant.

Earlier, when he returned to the Mantis, he announced that you took a Force-sensitive child from the city, everybody was up in arms to concoct a plan—especially Cere, knowing full well what they’ll do to captive Force-sensitive children.

During that planning, the former Jedi held her finger, her expression in full, deep thought and then she marches to the communications station—her personal workspace—in the cockpit without a word to anyone. With her dexterous fingers, she fiddled with the dashboard, her arms and hands moving from one spot to another—acting on pure muscle memory and instinct.

“I found a signal,” spoke Cere softly, and she obligated to repeat herself when she assumed no one had heard her. “There’s a signal, coming from the reception tower of an Imperial garrison in the east. I’ve been keeping up with them through their comms; transport ships are frequently deployed there for various purposes—ration supply runs, troop deployment, pickup, you name it. No doubt, [Y/N] will have the child delivered to their fortress on one of those ships.”

She fine-tuned the frequency by slightly turning the knob back and forth until the audio went clear—the entire comms of the Imperial garrison plays through the Mantis’s speakers for everyone to hear.

_ “I just received word from the Twelfth Sister. They’re orders to request a transport ship to Mons Golotha.” _

The crew collectively pulled their eyebrows together at the mention of an Inquisitor’s title and the name of a new planet, but they put aside the questions for later.

_ “Date of departure?” _

_ “No word yet, she says she’ll personally see to it. I think it must be a heads up.” _

_ “Yeah, well, they’ll process her request real quick. Inquisitors always get the priority here.” _

_ “It’s almost like Lord Vader but less terrifying.” _

Cere lowered the volume, and turned to Cal.

“Twelfth Sister?” Greez grumbled in a hybrid of disbelief and confusion.

“That’s [Y/N], she’s the Twelfth Sister among the Inquisitors,” Cal coldly answered.

An awkward silence befell between the Lateron and the young boy.

“Are you gonna burst in there like you did last time?” inquired Merrin.

“Well, it worked thus far,”

“And look where it got you.”

Merrin wins the banter of wits. Cal yields willingly, though he retained to the topic of how to rescue the child  _ and _ you, without any sarcastic comebacks brimming with sound points. Cere presumed it ought to be a trap, reading between the lines of the last few sentences the Stormtroopers said; she made it clear that you are not to be underestimated, for an alliance with the Dark Side and the Inquisitorius, no less, has made you doubly unpredictable.

The adult woman hacks into the garrison’s systems again and produces a rough, three-dimensional blueprint of the complex to amp out their entry and escape. Using the computer’s projector, the holomap floats in the center of the cockpit, surrounded by everyone.

“Once we’re in the garrison yard, I can find a computer and hack it so we can get a map of the inside,” commented Cere.

Cal rotated the map so the back side of the garrison complex faces him.

“I can scale its southern wall and sneak past the guards there, which I think would be minimal, considering they’re in the middle of nowhere. I’ll create an opening for us—Cere, you’ll be the one finding the kid.”

“And I take it that you’re coming after [Y/N] then?”

Cal clicked his tongue at the same time he pointed his finger at Cere in the shape of a gun, while keeping a poker face. In response, Cere sighed and rolled her eyes, equivalent to the saying, “Of course, you will.”

He had a feeling that the transport was a front, he reminds himself of the lone TIE Fighter he spotted earlier; and so, he couldn’t afford to let another hour pass to let your plan succeed. He asks Cere to keep the comms on while their own signature is masked, it’ll be their only way of knowing if you’re on the move; it’s also his guilty pleasure of hearing your voice again, for he always thinks the moments you have together aren’t enough, it isn’t exactly docile either—given the current predicament.

While they were debating on the best approach for stealth, the speakers crackled again and drew everyone’s attention.

_ “Captain?” _

Cal jumped on his feet as soon as he heard your voice at the first word.

“She on!”

_ “How long until my ship is ready for travel?” _

_ “Not for long now, Inquisitor.” _

Over the comms, the baby could be heard fussing in between your exchange with Captain Foros; another thing is the impending storm that’s gradually disrupting the signals, making it hard to piece together the conversation.

_ “Make sure… I leave… hour and a half…” _

_ “Yes-s-s-s… Inquisitor…” _

With everything they’ve gathered so far, Cal assumed that they only have an hour and half left to reach you before you get off-world.

“We have to go!”

Cal and Cere dashed to the door, the boy slams the same button that opens the contained door with the speeder. Cere drove the speeder, when they closed enough distance between themselves and the garrison, she scrambled the signal of the speeder as they approached the complex. According to plan, Cere dropped Cal at the backside of the garrison.

“Hey, Cal?”

The boy turned around before even taking his first step.

“Save her.”

There is a heaviness in those two simple words, Cal felt it in his heart, nonetheless the determination is there. He clenched his fist and looked at Cere straight in the eye.

“I plan to.”


	15. Whatever It Takes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost done! :D But thank you to those who stuck with this story from the beginning and saw it nearing its end, I hope you enjoyed this story!

The plan's going swimmingly. Cal hasn't been caught yet.

He had sensed that Cere prayed he needn't to use his saber prior to his inevitable stand-off with you. So far, he's keeping true to that prayer. He carves a path to the nearest entrance he can find, from there, he discovers the southern exit; taking the posted Stormtroopers by surprise, he incapacitated them quickly befire they even realize what's standing in front of them.

"Cere, I'm in the building—I went through the southern entrance," Cal softly spoke through his comm.

"Copy, I found my way in the eastern wing," Cere explains that she managed to get her hands on one of the computers, splice it and fish out a lot of info. "I'm patching in the map to you, BD should've picked up the file by now."

Instinctively, BD-1 flashes the holomap in the air as soon as he received the data; it shows the locations of Cere, Cal, and their two respective destinations—the medical bay where the child is kept and the hangar where the presumed transport ship should be parked. There's a large, empty gap between where Cal stood and the hangar itself.

"I'm looking at the map now. There's a bit of distance to the hangar, it's on the upper levels too," he softly trailed off at the last word.

Cere noted the fading out of his voice, afraid that she's lost contact, "Cal?"

The boy blinked several times to return to reality. He stutters in his apology for spacing out.

"What's wrong?"

Finally, he opens up about his theory about the transport ship, he adds the lone TIE Fighter he spotted earlier and the underlying possibility that the pilot is you—not knowing that you really are. Cere considers the theory but preferred to go with the original plan; if the transport is truly a decoy, then they'll have to move fast in catching up to you before you even hop into the TIE Fighter with the child—assuming that your TIE Fighter is in a completely different hangar.

The silence of their conversation's conclusion was followed by the gloomy, ominous humming of the corridor that laid in front of Cal's eyes. The stale air that entered his lungs put a tugging weight on him, this place carries a certain degree of corruption that it's simply foreboding to anybody—most especially the Jedi. The sole thought of rescuing you is what kept Cal going; he stalked through the corridor, feeling for any activity in the intersections before going around the next corner.

Eventually, he's halfway into his destination but it seems Cere still hasn't put her diversion in motion. 

Cal peeks over the corner to find a cluster of Stormtroopers—a mix of regulars and scouts—in his path. Two scouts block the path midway while the rest of them stay by the door at the end. He hugs the wall, tugs the saber off of his belt, he stares at the weapons around his clammy fingers; after one deep breath, he bolted out of nowhere and rammed his way through, the dazed troopers barely made a proper aim—some cut close to Cal, others he banked right away. 

"It's a Jedi!" One trooper yelped the obvious.

The redheaded Jedi spotted one of the troopers making a run for a button on the wall. Outstretching his arm with his open palm, he hauled that particular trooper away from the button and then towards him, within a saber's reach he was cut down.

"I can't do this by myself!" The surviving scout trooper whimpered out loud, the warble in his voice huffing through his helmet.

The poor scout braved in charging towards Cal, charging up the electric current on his baton, but was denied a shot by a single, successful parry and then the Jedi followed up with an attack—cutting the enemy down instantly. He now stands before a large, sealed door, he checks the map once more and sees the distance between him and the hangar has shrunken. In the next second, a blaring alarm howling across the complex startled him.

"That ought to be Cere, I hope she has the kid."

Upon opening the door, Cal discovers the elevator lobby—which also serves as a control room. Two troopers had their backs turned to him, manning the computers, while a single KX security droid paces back and forth but its scanners immediately detect Cal's presence—causing its head to jerk to the boy's direction, while its emotionless eyes lit up the moment it saw Cal, the troopers felt the abrupt rise of tension and were alerted by the sight of a Jedi in the room.

"Inferior Jedi!" The KX droid monotonously groaned as it raises a pair of fists, ready to swing it down and bash the Jedi's skull.

Fortunately, Cal evaded the clobber and singes the droid's leg joints, literally bringing it to its knees. Shielding itself with its arms proved useless as the Jedi slices the torso in half, leaving only himself and the troopers. The skirmish was done in five minutes, the boy scrambles to the elevator and slams the button of the hangar's floor number. As the turbolift ascends, Cal takes the time to check on Cere, he kept calling, but there was no answer and he gives up when the elevator gradually slowed down.

The rumble signaled that he's reached his destination, the narrow door retracted into the frame, revealing Cal the vast space of the hangar—each wall was lined with light to medium ships, sitting at the center of the hangar is a transport ship, his ears prick up at the faint wailing of a child.

"Oh no…" he thought. "Cere's too late!"

He ran to the ship, the wailing got louder, then his eyes widened at the discovery: a comlink lies on the floor of the entry ramp, a prerecorded soundbite of the cry plays on loop.

It's a trap!

Behind his head, the baritone humming of a spinning saber flings itself towards him, he spun and deflected it at the nick of time—returning it to the sender: you, perched atop the hangar platform, waiting for your prey to take the bait and then strike. You catch your saber in mid-air while descending from the upper platform with a feathery grace. Striding closer to him, he sees you completely without the helmet for the first time: hair fashioned into an elaborate braid, the tail rests on one shoulder, and loose, wispy fringes frame your face.

"I see you've set off my trap," you pointed out, holding the saber close to your face.

"I knew you'd pull a stunt like that!"

Your eyes lit up, impressed with Cal, "Well, you've become quite smarter than I expected!"

Both Inquisitor and Jedi circled slowly against one another, not knowing who's chasing whom, gentle threats exchange with pleas of coming home only to be received with a hard "no," the tension grows in this wide, open space. Cal decides it's now or never, he attempts to talk it out of you.

"[Y/N], let's come home,"

"This is my home."

He hints at the somber tone of your sentence, almost as if you don't mean it at all, and he believed the insincerity of those words. You mask the denial by making the first move in the fight. The swirl of blades caught Cal off-guard, resulting to a flimsy block on his end; he moved away from the ship, luring you into the wider space for a better fight, not that it changes much on each other's chances of winning this skirmish.

You barely paused from moving—a tireless lightning rod in human form—the swordfight pressed on in the hangar. For each time Cal struggled to put some distance between you so he can take a second to breathe, you always caught up to him—your frenzied eyes were always the first thing he notices the moment you start to dart towards him, with your arm prepped for an overhead strike and ready to attack. The strike lands, you withdrew and quickly follow up with another—thrusting your saber, he parried it with a subpar flourish and you staggered him with a strong Force push.

The boy flies to the farther side of the room, in your peripheral vision his lightsaber clatters away from him, his hand desperately pats the floor in search of the weapon while he had his eyes glued to you—closing the space at a fast rate. Still lying on his back, he affords a split second to catch a glimpse of his saber and pull it towards him; his own blade hovers mere inches above his neck when your strike landed as you crouch on top of him, bearing your weight on him while you've got him pinned down.

"I almost kind of like this position!" You crowed mischievously.

"[Y/N], please!" He pleaded again.

Without your helmet, Cal saw the life in your eyes better—if he saw wrath the first time, now he sees the misplaced anger and sorrow, the exact same feeling he found during his meditation. He even spots a hint of pink swelling beneath the rims of your eyes.

_ Has she been… crying? _ He pondered in that small window of time.

"You don't have to do this—your pain isn't strength!"

Your eyes flared again, but with denial you bellowed, "You don't understand the power that the Dark Side has given me!"

Generously, you withdrew, flipping away from him and landing in the same cat-like grace, giving him a chance to scramble back up on his feet. There was a time for a breather, enough for both. Again, the two of you slowly circle one another while a hostile air hangs over your heads, you point your saber at him.

"I didn't want to be as weak as I was before," you gesture your arms wide open. "And here I am."

"The [Y/N] I know was never weak to begin with,"

You paused in your tracks, slowly angled your head to face Cal, absorbing the empathetic gentleness in his voice. He could make his way through your heart faster than you could build a wall between the two of you. Unconsciously, the atmosphere seems to turn docile.

"I hate it when you patronize me!"

As quick as lightning, you attempt to execute a dashed strike but this time, Cal was prepared for it and he had been anticipating such an attack—he's been reading your every move up until you paused to banter with him. You strike again.

One.

Two.

Slash.

And another.

You jab, but he blocks. Another, and he prevails.

Eventually, he gathered enough strength and momentum, and became at par with the pace and dexterity of your technique. The clashing of sabers became more violent and heavier as the moves from both Jedi and Inquisitor became more pronounced—a contest of brute force. This sudden burst of strength wasn't much of a surprise, you keep up the assault and Cal surely isn't backing down—nor does he plan to.

A single beep of his comlink rings, "Cal, the child is secure! I'm coming for you!"

Cal saw your wide, aghast eyes glimmering with fear and panic, and perhaps a desperation that translates to "I need that child back!" which he felt all at once in that piercing glare when you shot him a look—with your bared teeth and furrowed eyebrows. Heeding to your lessons you, weaponized your emotions against the Jedi, you became a dagger in the wind—amplifying the heaviness of your strikes when it lands and the litheness of your body when eluding his saber.

Cere comes rushing into the hangar, saber and blaster in each hand, reassuring Cal in mere seconds that the child has been brought home.

"The Mantis should be on its way here by now," Cere whispered, her voice shuddered at the words.

She glanced to her side and then fixated her eyes to you—dressed in Inquisitor's garments from the neck down. In your periphery, you saw her blaster hand tremble with fearful disbelief; a secretive smirk played on the corner of your lip, as if to ridicule her shock, her first-time reaction amused you.

"Long time, no see, Cere." You crooned.

"[Y/N], good gods…"

"Oh come now, don't act so surprised. This is your second time anyway!"

A second Jedi wasn't any difficult, thought it's a fresh challenge instead of the typical one-on-one.

"Amazing, I get the privilege of seeing a cut-off Jedi fight firsthand!"

During Cere's attack that you held in a block, you examined Trilla's hilt up close—she had likened it with her old hilt by covering the sleeve with leather wrappings—you glanced at yours in its original form: blood red beams gleaming menacingly on either end, mingling with the purified, ice white blades.

You had to give Cere some credit, even after all these years of being voluntarily cut off from the Force, her muscle memory of combat is intact, incorporating her rugged style with a blaster.

"Impressive," you hummed after a parrying strike, and then another. She quickly switched to her blaster and shot twice, much to her dismay you've banked them seamlessly. "Most impressive."

Cere comes charging at you, ready for a jab, and you'd parry; just when Cal thought you have your attention to her, he attacks—more or less, attempt to—from behind but you duck and twirl, evading his lightsaber and planting a kick on his shin. This dynamic of alternating between the two Jedis lasted for more than a minute, a medley of attack patterns used against you—a handful of which have dealt damage on you, some missed you, but you enjoyed this death-defying thrill, it livened you up in this dull hangar.

Your mischievous, insidious grin stretched across your face melted when the entire hangar rumbled under your boots, explosions roared behind your ears; while holding your ground, you turned to find the source of the sound and found portions of the building are being reduced to shrapnel and inferno. Cere steals your smile and paints it with triumph on; you're not even  _ that _ mad, you shoot her with a snarl of your lip, catching on with her little game, all the while impressed.

"Oh joy, you'll experience how I actually nearly died!"

You pulled away violently from the tangle of blades, pommeled Cere across the jaw with your own hilt, and pushed her at a certain distance.

"[Y/N]!!"

As the ceiling above your heads crumbled and rained dust, your lightning-fast flurry of the lightsaber did not waive; the boy didn't want to be outmatched—he cannot afford to, now that they're all standing inside a building on the verge of collapse—his dexterity and nimbleness spiked, adapting to your own caliber. Cal wanted to finish this as soon as possible, and he had to think fast; in his peripheral vision, he sees Cere bringing herself back up on her feet, dazed from your hit across her face, and then understood the gravity of her damage.

The garrison begins to collapse, any moment the entire roof will fall over your heads if neither Jedi nor Inquisitor shall stand victorious in this duel. In a final, colossal clash of lightsabers, both youngsters were encased in the sheen of their luminous weapons.

“[Y/N], come on, let’s go home,” Cal pleads once more.

“I can’t—” you choked, tears didn’t hide themselves from Cal, they streamed down your cheek as the stability of your grip fluctuated—influenced by the medley of emotions storming every fiber of your being. “I don’t belong there anymore!”

Despite the sheer intensity, Cal’s voice remained soft and gentle to you, as it always has. In a last-minute resort, he encourages, “You always have belonged with us, and we’re waiting for you to come home.”

Another tear streaks your face, your eyelids drooped, and then spoke in the most defeated, somber tone.

“It’s too late for me now, Cal.”

The crumbling ceiling groans, your eyes roll up and saw the reinforcement beam give way to two colossal chunks of debris plummet in a 50-foot drop from the ceiling straight down to a docked TIE Fighter.

“CAL, LOOK OUT!”

He didn’t fully see your reaction at the last minute; you pull him in and then push him away, but in turn,you got yourself closer to the blast radius. The hot wind picked you up into the air and flung your to the floor like a ragdoll, hitting your head upon landing, rendering you unconscious.

“[Y/N], NO!”

A sharp, piercing noise shrilled in Cal’s ears—all the other noises and voices are reduced to echoing gibberish, even Cere’s calling of your names—straight ahead, he saw you lying unconscious on the floor, covered in debris. He desperately crawled towards you, blatantly ignoring the hollow calls ringing behind his ears; he cradled you in his arms, ignoring the crackling heat flaring near his cheeks.

“[Y/N], come on…” he stuttered. “[Y/N], stay with me… I’m not leaving you a second time!”

He shakes you to coax you into waking up, he could’ve sworn he felt your body shuffle in reaction, he placed his forefinger and middle finger on your neck and found a pulse. He snaps his fingers and BD pops out a stim, he injects it straight into the flesh of your upper arm—you jolted and sucked in a lot of air at the same time, as if emerging into the surface from underwater.

Indeed, you were alive, but relatively weakened by the blast. Your voice saying Cal’s name was drowned out by the roaring flames and the thundering collapse of the garrison.

“Cal, we have to go now!”

Bursting with adrenaline, he scoops you up into his arms and followed Cere to the escape route; evading all the explosions as much as possible and keeping the enemy encounters to a minimum. Although, the evacuees are confused whether to engage the intruders—and presumably, in their heads, rescue the Inquisitor from the Jedi, but they’re felled by either the blasts or Cere’s blaster.

Speeding through the corridors, Cere led Cal to an open docking platform. The Mantis waits at the edge of the catwalk in a fly-by, lightly swerving to dodge blaster fire from the ground, and the entry ramp hangs open.

“Come on, you guys!” shrieked Greez.

Merrin waited by the frame of the entry ramp, the strong wind of the ship and the environment whip her fringes as she feels for balance while getting farther out. On the other hand, Cere and Cal—with you still in his arms—are almost to the edge of the catwalk.

“Come on, you have to jump!” cried out Merrin from the ramp.

Cal assessed the gap between the platform and the ship, it was a risky jump—one miscalculated step equaled to a hundred-foot doom.

“They’re gaining on us!” Cal screeched.

“You go on ahead, I’ll cover you and catch up!”

The boy paced back for momentum, buckled his knees when he slightly crouched, he fixed his grip tighter on you, and trusted his heels as he propelled the balls of his feet off the floor. The Mantis hovers at a considerable height by the edge of the catwalk that won’t send anyone hanging onto the edge of the ramp for dear life.

The soles of his boots planted flat on the metal floor and briskly trotted inside, settling you down gently on the couch, and then he joins Merrin by the ramp, watching Cere blast at the incoming Stormtroopers.

“Cere, let’s go!”

The woman produced a detonator out of her belt pouch and set it off. As a finisher, she gathered all the strength in her throwing arm, the bomb rolled towards the Stormtroopers’ feet and encased them in a cloud of fire and smoke. She quickly turned tail and made the jump, she scrambled on fours to get inside the ship and Cal slams the door button once she’s in.

“Punch it, Greez!”

Greez cranked the hyperdrive lever and sent the Mantis flying out of Jeddah, leaving the garrison crumbling to its destruction in their wake.


	16. Where You Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah it's finally done!! ;;A;; after nearly a month or so in struggling to publish because my laptop's decommissioned and looking for other ways to post, I finally managed to finish this fic!

When it was safe, Cal carried you again and settled you on his bed in the ship. He checks you again for a pulse, a few thumps underneath your wrist gave him a wave of relief, the stim is probably doings its job in your body by now; he wipes off the sweat and grime off of your brow and proceeds to remove the duraplast armor—leaving you only in the gray suit.

Your eyelids flicker, struggling to open—your sight can only show you blurry shapes, colors, and the light of the room—you speak in grumbles and moans. Whenever you attempt to sit up—Cal would gently plant his hand behind your head, slipping it into the underside of your hair and supporting your neck, carefully coaxing you to lie down again.

"Rest easy, we're heading home," he shushed, but his words rendered as muffled, indistinct noises that eluded your ears.

Darkness takes over you again and your exhaustion brings you to a heavy slumber.

After what seemed like an eternity, your eyes shot open and a sharp gasp entered your lungs at the same time. You feel your back sinking into the soft mattress, the slightest movement made you sore, and you begin to register where you are right now. Your eyes pan left and then right—you never thought you'd find yourself sitting in this very bedroom again.

Just as you were attempting to sit up, Cal comes in with a tray full of food and immediately puts it to the nearest countertop before rushing to you.

"Hey, hey… easy now!"

He sits by your side, supports your back against one arm, and offers the other for you to hold on to. You groaned incoherently until you managed to form words.

"Everything kinda hurts…" you muttered.

"I know, I know," he hummed. "Can you move? Do you want to sit up?"

"I'm trying…"

When you finally sat up comfortably—thanks to the mountain of pillows behind your back—he fed you before giving you a small vial of medicine that Merrin personally concocted.

"Don't worry, I kept an eye on her. No poisonous mushrooms or animal parts,"

You stifled a chuckle, "I was hoping to get a taste of a Gorgara hair."

Your little joke warranted a chuckle out of Cal and you tilted your head back to let the liquid into the back of your throat. The laughter quickly melted away. You smacked your lips and tasted a hint of Jogan berries—you guessed Merrin put it there to mask the original taste, something that ought to be bitter and unpleasant.

Silence in the abode bedroom. There wasn't much to say—despite having a ton of things to talk about in your minds.

Eventually, you sighed and broke the silence, "You know, you really should've just left after I pushed you."

"And leave you there to die for real?"

"I would've survived anyway," you dismissed, your usual confidence lacking in your words.

"I don't think so. I wasn't going anywhere without you,"

You saw the sincerity in his eyes, piercing through the dimness of the room like sunlight to a shadowy room. There's no doubt—he meant what he said.

You looked away, turning your head to the wall of vines on the right; you didn't want to show Cal any tears, so you let them fall from your eyes instead of wiping them away. You didn't turn to him, not until you waited for the tears to dry; he read it as despondency and decided to leave—although he'd wanted a few more moments with you, he knew it's best to give you more time to yourself, to recover, especially now that you're back home in Bogano where it's safe and quiet.

Cal slowly reaches for you, about to touch your shoulder, but he slowly withdraws. You heard the shuffling noise that signaled him standing up from the stool by the bedside, then the footsteps—accompanied by the light clinking of his armor's buckles—and before silence could come next, you swallowed your pride and called to him.

"Cal, wait…"

He stops in his tracks, almost as if he was waiting for that moment.

"Yes?"

You take a deep breath, "Thank you… for saving my life."

He flashed a small, gentle, and kind smile.

"Rest now. I'll be here whenever you're ready, [Y/N]."

He disappears from the room, leaving you in the solace of the abode and its earthy smell wafting around—the scent intrudes your nostrils, flooding you with memories of home. Your heart aches again, but for a good reason somehow; for once, the breath you take felt like your lungs have been freed from a time of suffocation.

You melt into the sheets, patting the mattress and sinking your head into the pillow. You drift off to a comforting slumber, knowing and yet hoping that this is not a dream—it's real.


End file.
